


untouchable (like a distant diamond sky)

by babygrxxt



Category: Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, Fate, M/M, Titanic - Freeform, second life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 04:33:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 38,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1731266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babygrxxt/pseuds/babygrxxt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It all began when blue met green. When the boy who was scared to love met the one who loved too much. It began with the fact that sometimes love just doesn’t work out. Sometimes things happen that seem unexplainable, that make you doubt human nature and the idea of a loving God. But this life is not all there is. This life isn’t all that’s out there, it can’t be. What happens to the human soul? And soulmates?</p><p>Or, in other words, the story we know now is merely a sequel, and their tattoos are more than just a fashion choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Summary

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading! I hope you will enjoy it :) Thanks to my friend Holly who convinced me to put it up here! xx
> 
> Also check out the trailer for this fanfic here! :) https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=N5jkgc6o3Vs

_“And as their bodies collide, Louis sees it. He sees the lights going out and hears the screams echoing in his head and feels the kisses on his lips. He can smell the salt from the sea and knows how Harry fits so perfectly against him. From the look on the other boy’s face as they separate he can tell that he experienced it as well. They look at each other for a few moments, their lips forming incomprehensible words. But then the moment is over, and the three other boys are thumping them on the back and grinning with all their might, and all that Louis can think is that he’s found his home, and he never wants to lose him again.”_


	2. The Beginning

The ship loomed above him, its massive hull plunging him into a dark shadow. It shined with certain newness, and Louis couldn't help but feel a swell of excitement build up in his chest as he made his way towards the gangway. Behind him, a small, skinny young boy carried his bag, quite obviously struggling. Louis cautiously offered a hand, making sure to hide the gesture from the watchful eyes of his mother, but the boy waved it away.

"I've got it sir!" He puffed, his cheeks red from the strain. Little strands of hair were plastered to his forehead. The air around them was silent apart from a few seagulls and the soft murmur of voices. The boy's voice cuts clearly through the peace. "You're changing my life, you know that?" Louis gave him a lopsided smile. He regretted to admit that he didn't actually know the boy's name, but he decided to ignore that fact when he considered all he had done for the lad. He had been Louis' help for a year now, recommended by one of the singers at his birthday party. In return for his faithful service, Louis had ensured him a ticket on the Titanic. The ship of dreams.

And now, the boy didn't seem to be able to stop reminding him of it.

"I know, I know. You deserve it, for all you've done for me. I apologise it's only a second class ticket," Louis said in a hushed tone. His mother was just a few steps ahead of him, holding onto the hand of his sister who was skipping merrily along the path, waving at everybody she met. Both mother and daughter were so obviously caught up in the magic and splendour of the pride Belfast had for her ship. Everywhere Louis looked, people were betting on how fast the Titanic could go and bragging to each other about what family member built which section. When he looked upwards and squinted he could clearly see the outline of the ship's creator surrounded by sunlight, a wide grin on his handsome face.

The boy gave a grunt as he lifted Louis' bag up onto the cart and wiped his forehead as it was whisked away. "Phew!" He let out a sigh. "That was a bit heavy." From the strained look on his face, it was an obvious understatement.

"I did offer you some help," Louis reminded him gently as they began to ascend the gangway. The boy followed hurriedly, being careful to maintain a step behind Elizabeth, Louis' mother. Louis however stayed with him, despite his mother throwing a sharp look. He wasn't supposed to associate with the servants.

"I know, but I couldn't accept that sir, not after all you've..."

"Look." This time, Louis couldn't find it in himself to quell the irritation at the boy's constant debt of gratitude. It wore him out, especially considering he had listened to it on the two hour ride there as well. "You don't have to thank me all the time. It makes me feel weird. Here," He said, as he pressed a £10 note into the boy's clammy hand. "Go find a bar, get drunk, do whatever you may to enjoy it. This is a once in a lifetime."

The light shone in the boy's eyes, and he looked down at the note with such disbelief Louis didn't think he had ever seen a tenner before. "Thank you sir... I can't take this from you sir..."

"Yes, you can," Louis wracked his brain to think of a name. "John?"

Thankfully, the boy didn't seem to mind Louis' forgetfulness. He gave the blue eyed boy a small, kind smile and whispered, "My name is Richie, sir. But thank you, once again. I'll see you in America."

They had reached the end of the gangway by this point, and Louis watched with a fond expression as energetic Richie ran through the lobby, whooping and thrusting the note up into the air. A few aristocrats stuck their noses up and let out little noises of disapproval, but Louis couldn't help but appreciate his (admittedly) best friend's enthusiasm. And once Richie disappeared from view, he could enjoy the lobby in its entirety.

"Wow." He heard a hushed whisper beside him, and he couldn't help but agree. That was the only way to describe the beauty. The walls were covered in the finest sculptures crafted of wood. Two sweeping staircases led down to the dining area for the first class passengers, where Louis would inevitably eat dinner every night with his family during the course of the journey. There was already bustling activity occurring; waiters in their tight jackets and crisp white shirts delivering champagne more expensive than some lower class peoples' houses. He could hear violins playing. He closed his eyes and absorbed the sound. He had always loved the violins. 

The allusion was shattered when his sister reappeared, grabbed onto his leg and tried to pull him down. He loved his sister, he really did. Beatrice Barkworth was beautiful, and intelligent, and everybody who met her commented on her positive outlook on life and insane love of her older brother. It was just that sometimes he wished she wasn't there.

*

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Harry turned around to face a man in a smart suit, with his white shirt buttoned so tightly it must have been suffocating. The tone was teasing, and he knew immediately who it was. A wide grin covered Harry's face, and the waiter replicated it. They crashed together, their hands thumping the other's back. "You happy to see me?" Harry asked, a slight laugh to his tone.

The waiter fling his linen cloth over his shoulder and ran his hand through his hair. It was styled to perfection, as was every part of his appearance, from the suit right down to his pristinely polished shoes. "Of course I am, man. I'm glad you got it."

The waiter, Howard, had received an employee discount on a third class ticket on the Titanic. He and Harry had been friends for years, but had only reconnected on the day Howard got the job, when Harry was admiring the ship. They hadn't talked for a period of time ever since the waiter married Harry's sister Josephine. Howard considered their meeting fate, and told Harry he had a ticket for him, if he could pay the rest of his way. Harry said he could, and so that was that.

Harry looked at Howard, trying to think of a way to repay him. He didn't like being in anybody's debt, especially not the debt of a man who married his best friend's sister, but he had always wanted to go to America. He had been waking up early every morning and crawling up onto his roof to watch the Titanic being built. He had dreamed almost every night of standing up on its top deck, of tasting the salt on his tongue and feeling the wind blowing through his hair. He knew now he would never be on the top deck - that was strictly first class - but he would get to go to America, so it was better than nothing.

"How did you even get this job?" Harry asked with disbelief in his voice as he spun around in the lobby, his eyes fixed firmly on the glass chandelier above his head. Howard put a hand on his shoulder to steady him as he swayed, and managed to wipe the look of amusement off his face and replace it with a stern expression. "Through hard work and determination lad, how else?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Alright, so there was a bit of bribing. But that doesn't mean anything! I belong here as much as any of those snobby ass aristocrats." Howard mimicked one of the first class, over exaggerating the way in which they walked with a practiced swing in their step, the upwards tilt of their nose as if looking down upon anyone who dared talk to them. Harry let out a hearty laugh, but stifled it quickly when he caught the eye of one of the aforementioned 'snobs'.

She was looking at him with the same expression Howard had demonstrated beforehand, and her daughter beside her was also well trained in the field of patronisation. But her son (at least, he was guessing that was her son) held a hand up over his mouth to hide his laughter, and his eyes were sparkling. Harry gave a cheeky wink in his direction, and the tip of the blue eyed boy's ears went red, but he winked back.

An announcement boomed across the ship. "All passengers please vacate the lobby to allow further passengers to enter freely. Thank you." 

And as the two boys passed each other, Louis on his way to the dining hall and Harry towards the stairs that led to the bottom of the ship, Louis lifted his nose slightly, and Harry did the same.

*

Louis was used to opulent decor in bedrooms having spent his entire life in well furnished palaces, but it still amazed them that it was all on a ship. It was almost as if you could live there permanently.

After spending a couple of hours engaging in meaningless conversation with people who cared more about what was on the menu than what was going on in Louis' life, he retreated to his quarters on the basis of having a sore head. He also demanded that he be left alone, because although he kept reminding himself that he loved his mother and sister, they were also the most irritating people on the surface of this earth. He almost had it in his mind to drown them in their soup halfway through the meal.

He peeled off his clothes, first the too-tight suit jacket, then the tie, then his shirt, trousers and shoes. He flopped back onto the bed, taking the opportunity of his mother's absence and the possession of his very own suite to properly relax. Louis arched his back into the sheets, enjoying the feel of silk on his skin. The ceiling was decorated with tiny circles and flowers in between the decals. He stared at them so hard for so long his vision began to go blurry and his head throbbed.

"What am I doing here?" Louis mumbled out loud to himself. "I had plans. And yet I'm stuck on this goddamn boat alone."

He had always blamed his mother for his lack of friends. If he so much as invited a guy over to the house, his mother would scrutinise every single one of their actions. It was almost as if she didn't trust him. He never understood that. It wasn't as if it was a _girl.  
_

Speaking of a girl...

The door of Louis' chamber opened slowly, cautiously at first, and then when he didn't say anything it swung open fully. Eleanor peeked around the door, going slightly red when she saw Louis in only his boxers. She quickly averted her eyes, and Louis held back a groan. They were to be married in America, for God's sake! She could at least look him in the eye.

He pulled the sheets up over himself, purely for her benefit. Eleanor gave him a timid smile and muttered, "Thank you," before sitting down on the bed beside them. It was almost as if his body acted upon its own accord, as when she placed her small body carefully on the sheets Louis shuffled away.

It was only a minuscule act of repulsion, but she noticed and that made her sit even stiffer on the bed than usual. Sometimes Louis convinced himself to marry Eleanor wouldn't be too bad. She was pretty, intelligent, occasionally funny, and she knew how to make a mean pot roast. But her eyes didn't make butterflies erupt in his stomach, and her touch was somewhat lacking.

It didn't make him want more.

It was ten to seven in the evening. "When did you arrive?" Louis asked, simply because he was sick of the awkward silence. Eleanor brightened up immediately now that she could focus on something other than the way in which the stillness didn't feel easy enough for two people only a few weeks away from marriage. "Only ten minutes ago. My hat blew away in the wind and Father had to send the servant to go retrieve it. It took the boy more than five minutes to catch it. Now the brooch is ruined." Eleanor took off her hat to demonstrate, her long fingers moving over the flower embellishment.

Louis saw no difference to what it was before.

"I'm sure he tried his best," He replied finally. Her story didn't really speak to him as an invitation for further conversation, so he didn't ask any more questions. His attention returned firmly to the decorative carvings in the corner of the ceiling.

Eleanor pursed her lips so they formed a straight line. "Obviously not good enough," She exclaimed. "It's ruined, ruined!"

Louis saw no difference.

"I mean, we certainly pay him enough. We got him a third class ticket on the _Titanic!_ He should be eternally grateful. The least he could do would be to catch my hat before it got destroyed. And look at this dress! Our usual laundry maid quit on us for some silly reason, so I had to get Mabel to do it instead. It looks a terrible mess."

Louis saw no difference.

Eleanor let out a sigh of frustration, but the crinkle in between her eyebrows disappeared almost instantaneously. "Causes wrinkles," She explained when Louis raised an eyebrow at her unnatural expression. "I have been developing too many lately."

Louis saw absolutely no difference to how she looked before.

She sat on the other edge of the bed, putting on an act of looking into Louis' eyes. He knew what trick she was playing. His mother had taught him it when he was six years old and told her he felt uncomfortable looking into strangers' eyes. She had told him to look in between their eyebrows instead. That was exactly what Eleanor was doing.

The facade continued for exactly two minutes before she stood up from the bed, straightened out the minuscule creases on her dress and placed her hat on her head at a precisely fashionable angle. She peered down at her wristwatch. "It's almost seven o'clock," She announced, as if Louis wasn't aware of the way time had been ticking by painfully slowly in her presence.

"I better get going. Will I see you at supper?"

Supper. Yet another event full of fake smiles and friends that spread lies about each other in the name of gossip. Riveting.

"I've a splitting sore head, Eleanor. I think I'll just stay here for a while." The lie flowed seamlessly off his tongue, but he had done it frequently enough for Eleanor not to care anymore.

"Fine. I will see you tomorrow at breakfast then." She leaned over to kiss his cheek, but at the precise moment her lips were about to touch his skin his face turned into the pillow and a groan escaped his lips. Louis praised himself for the convincing act.

"Hope you get better soon, Mr Barkworth," Eleanor whispered, and there was almost a sad tone to her overly chipper voice. Louis heard the faint clicking of the door before silence ensued once again.

* 


	3. Limerence

At midday on the 11th April 1912, the thumping of feet against the floor of the third class quarters could be heard throughout the entire ship. That was when lunch was served, and instead of handling themselves in such a highly dignified manner you would think they were off to see the queen, the mostly starving passengers fought each other to get the better lot of the food.

Despite the upper classes' views on those poorer than themselves, they did maintain some degree of chivalry. Well, they did when Harry was anything to do with it.

Having spent the majority of his life being shuffled from foster home to foster home with his sister Josephine, Harry had learnt the importance of being adaptable. Therefore, he picked up extremely quickly on the habits of the commoners. That, and the fact that he had lived next to most of them during some stage of his life, made the majority of the passengers listen to him with rapt attention.

Howard was astounded by simply how much he could influence the people. He only noticed it on the first morning in the ship, when Harry was able to convince the third class to line up in order of priority for food; children first, then women, then men, just as if the unsinkable itself was going down. When Harry eventually made his way up to the food cat there was barely any food food left, but he ate more than he had when he was in his old home in Belfast, so for that he was grateful. Howard pulled him aside as another waiter moved past with his own cart and whispered in his ear, as if he would get in trouble for even mentioning it.

"'Ave you got some kinda mind control or something?" Howard asked, astonishment in his tone. Harry raised an eyebrow in confusion. "You're going to have to be more specific here Howie," Harry said with a laugh.

And that's when Howard realised what it was. It wasn't just the fact that sharing things out amongst themselves made it easier for everyone; it was the fact that Harry was such a people person. His eyes shone with an almost unquenchable thirst to help and learn, and Howard secretly prayed to God that that light would never go out. He saw the same look in his own wife (it was the reason he fell in love,) and he realised that morning where it had come from.

"Never mind, Harry," Howard said with a fond smile as he grasped on the handle of the food cart. He had been warned to keep his hands close to the trays today, as the Captain had ordered an increase in speed. Some people would be winning a lot of money from their betting when they reached America. He was one of them.

Harry walked alongside Howard as he headed towards the kitchen. "How's Josephine?" Harry asked as he held the door open for the food cart. Howard hurried a thank you and placed the cart in the corner, basically throwing the plates into the sink. "She's fine. Glowing, almost," Howard answered with softness on his handsome features. Harry looked at him for a few moments and then, "When's the due date?"

"Two weeks from now."

"And you're on this ship? What if she's early?"

Howard continued to push the cart out of the kitchen and down the hall, shouting flippant apologies to the passengers as he hit their shins with its wheels. "Doc says it's more likely she'll be late. Besides, I'll only be here for the most two weeks anyways, so it'll be fine."

Harry hummed in agreement, although he maintained a look of quiet reservation. "Are you considering moving to America too?"

Howard nodded. From what he had seen in the newspapers and heard from his friends and neighbours, America was the perfect place to raise a young family. Crime was almost non-existent, and the education system was twice that of Ireland or even the mainland of England. Harry's lips pursed. "If you wanted, once you moved, you could send me a letter. We could meet up... I could see the kid."

It had been almost two years since Josephine had seen her brother. This lack of contact was due to Howard, and partly Harry's, instruction. Both of the men knew Harry was into things that could get any of the family killed within a moment's notice. With that, and the way in which his wife started looking at Harry differently after a very serious talk he wasn't privy to, Howard decided maybe it would be best not to be as close to his brother in law as he used to be.

Yet, the idea of the family reuniting again in America, the land of no judgement, the land of freedom and respite lifted Howard's spirits. It had always been his dream to move away from the green fields of Ulster, mainly because after thirty years of looking at them he was yearning for something more. He was longing to better himself. So, despite his gut telling him to shake his head and walk away, his heart told him that it was fate that Harry was on this ship.

"I'd like that. I know Josephine would too."

His voice was so thick with emotion that he could barely speak. And Harry did what any good friend would do.

He ignored it.

*

It was 12th April 1912. Louis couldn’t say he felt completely better the next morning as he sat beside Eleanor at the table, pushing his salad around the plate with his fork. All around him, he could hear a chorus of voices saying, “Oh, she’s so beautiful Louis!” “What an amazing catch you got there, Eleanor.” “What a beautiful couple!” “How handsome will the children be?”

Not one of them commented on how happy (or rather unhappy) they looked, or how they complimented each other or anything that seemed remotely regarded to Louis’ perception of love. When his father had been alive, he always believed that his parents were in love. Now he realised with the crashing realisation that one gets when their childhood dreams are shattered that people said the same things to them as they were now saying to him and Eleanor.

He had a dream last night about a pair of bright green eyes, just barely out of his reach and beautiful, shining like the streetlights in his hometown. Eleanor had green eyes, he knew that, but he had made sure to make eye contact with her when she was speaking continually throughout the meal.

It wasn’t her.

They still didn’t make him feel anything. He slumped back in his seat, a heavy feeling of disappointment weighing down in his chest.

“May I be excused?” Louis asked, after shoving a particularly large mouthful of salad in his mouth so that his plate was completely empty. His mother turned around, and her mouth opened as if to say, “But you’re not even finished, Louis”. His eyes immediately narrowed to a death glare, and his mother mirrored his expression. 

One of her friends spoke up, feeling the obvious tension between the Barkworths. “Of course son,” She said with a warm smile, even though Louis couldn’t understand why she called him that. He didn’t even know her name. “You should really let him off the leash sometimes Betty,” She said in a condescending voice to his mother. “What with the wedding and all, I’m sure he has to blow off steam.”

“Yes. That’s exactly my reasoning,” Louis said pointedly, before picking up his blazer and making a hasty exit from the dining room.

*

Harry’s throat felt like it was closing in on itself. He hadn’t talked to his sister in years, not since she’d spotted him a protest and looked at him across the crowd with that look that said, ‘I don’t even know you anymore’. The argument that followed wasn’t particularly pleasant either. And now that she knew what he was, and Harry knew what she thought, he wasn’t exactly sure what would come of them meeting again.

He had changed over the past few years, he knew that. He was seventeen the last time he saw his sister. He was now nineteen. His voice was deeper and his hair was longer. He had grown lankier and developed a love for alternative music. Harry often wondered what his sister was like now. 

Sometimes he wondered if he ever knew.

She hadn’t told Howard though, that was one thing Harry was certain of. Howard’s eyes didn’t flit from the centre of his eyebrow to his nose to everywhere on his face besides his eyes. He didn’t bat an eyelash when Harry flirted with the chef, passing it off as the other man himself did to be a light hearted joke. Just another way for Harry to charm the nation. 

It worked for him in one way, but destroyed him in another.

Harry must’ve been so busy constructing the best and worst case scenarios in his mind he wasn’t watching where he was going. 

All the wind was knocked out of his body as a smaller one crashed straight into him. 

Harry fell backwards, hitting the small of his back painfully against the metal food cart. Howard also toppled slightly, tumbling into yet another waiter who dropped several plates of very expensive food on the ground. Yells of indignation rose up from the tables, most of them exclaiming, “I paid good money for that food!” or “The incompetence of help these days.” But there were two boys on that ship who couldn’t hear a single thing that was happening around them.

Just when Louis was about to burst out with some choice words his mother wouldn’t have been very proud of, blue met green. They didn’t leave. Harry steadied himself on his feet and moved towards Louis, whose pulse had slowed down to a point he was unsure if he was still alive.

“Oops,” Harry said with a smirk on his face. Louis felt the tips of his ears go red as the boy with the curly hair pushed a few lettuce leaves off his shoulder onto a plate Howard was holding. 

‘Think of something to say Louis, anything’, he thought angrily into himself. He was never this quiet, never this distrustful of his own conversation. It was something about the way this unknown boy was looking at him like he was the moon and the stars and everything in between.

Finally, just as he recognised that he had seen this boy before on the first day of the ship, and that these were the eyes he had dreamt of the previous night, Louis managed to squeeze one tiny word out of his oesophagus. 

“Hi.”

A wide grin appeared on Harry’s face and before Louis even had the chance to mirror his action, the boy grabbed him by the arm. “What are you...” Louis began, but Harry cut him off with a blunt, “Run.”

*

In retrospect, bolting out of the dining room, knocking over several aristocrats and banquet tables in the process and managing to outrun the security, all whilst holding hands with a complete stranger maybe wasn’t such a good idea.

When Louis spluttered this as he leaned up against a wall on the top deck, Harry simply laughed and shouted against the wind, “Since when did good ideas make you feel alive?”  
Louis had to admit, the guy had a point.

The pair sat down, still panting, on a pair of sun loungers in a dark corner of the top deck, where most bluebloods wouldn’t sit for fear of being overlooked. The sun was dipping down past the horizon, and the wooden hull was lit up in a dim orange glow. It was the kind of weather that made people believe that God smiled on the Earth. 

Harry lay back on the seat, his hands behind his head and his feet leaned up on the cushions. Louis tried to hide the way in which his eyes scanned over Harry’s body, from the messy curls on his head to the fraying blue shirt he wore; from his tattered corduroy trousers to the heavy brown work-boots on his feet. He then looked down at his own clothing, a crisp white shirt under an ornate waistcoat and a fluted suit jacket. His trousers were pristinely pressed and his shoes were polished to Eleanor’s extremely high standards. 

“You honestly think you’re better than me, don’t you?”

Louis had been so absorbed in comparing their appearances he barely heard what the other boy said. “Pardon?” 

Harry sat up poker straight, (or, at least as straight as he could. Louis had observed a slight hunch in the boy’s back that only added to his perfection,) abandoning his relaxed stance. His posture demonstrated aggression, but his facial features remained soft and well meaning. He repeated himself once more, but slower and more purposefully. “You still think you’re better than me. Don’t you?”

If Louis’ mother was here, she would be telling him to agree with the boy and walk away without a moment’s hesitation. But she wasn’t here, and the amount of available light was depleting rapidly. Louis knew better than anyone night time was when humans became weak, when they divulged themselves more than was intelligent, when they became the weakest versions of themselves. He couldn’t honestly imagine Harry becoming any softer than he first appeared, but Louis was all too aware of the way in which he changed when the moon rose in the sky.

That’s why he remained unsurprised as he shook his head and whispered, in a voice that could barely be heard over the sound of the waves lapping at the side of the boat, “I never have.”

*

“How could you possibly know that?”

“I’m telling you, that’s Leo.”

“It doesn’t even look like a lion.”

“That’s the tail, and that’s the head, see?”

“That could just as easily be a snake.”

*

“Why are you here?”

“On the Titanic?”

“No. In Alaska. Yes on the Titanic!”

“My brother in law got me a discount. He’s one of the waiters here.”

“I’m sure he loves you now. You knocked over the entire dinner.”

“He’ll forgive me. He used to be my best friend.”

“Used to be?”

“He married my sister.”

“Good point.”

“...”

“Are you not going to ask why I’m here?”

“I already know.”

“Oh, do you?”

“Your mother forced you.”

“Hit the nail on the head.”

*

“You got any hobbies?”

“Not really. Most of my day is spent standing beside my mother as she babbles away to her girlfriends.”

“Sounds thrilling.”

“You sound sarcastic.”

“No, really. You get to hear your mother talking to her friends, hear her thoughts on events...”

“Not that she actually has any independent thoughts.”

“Regardless, you should be thankful.”

“Who do you think you are to be giving me advice?”

“My mother died when I was four.”

“Sorry.”

*

“So, where are you from?”

“Belfast, born and bred. You?”

“London. Moved there when my father died with the inheritance.”

“I’ve always wanted to live in London.”

“It’s really not that amazing.”

“Really? What brings you to that conclusion?”

“You don’t live there.”

*

“Dream.”

“To be free from judgement and people who don’t actually give a shit about me.”

“Oh, rich boys swearing. Have I managed to corrupt you?”

“I dare say you might’ve. What about you? The infamous Harold Gracey must have ambitions to change the world!”

“This is going to sound stupid, but I do.”

“God himself will bow down before you!”

“I will rule over all countries! Bring back jazz!”

“Oh hell no. Don’t tell me you like jazz.”

“What’s wrong with it? It too enjoyable for you?”

“What exactly are you insinuating?”

“Someday, I’m going to catch a star for you.”

“What the...? Harry, that is not answering my question.”

“You need a star though. Get some light into your life. Actually get a life.”

“I have a life!”

“Oh yes, trailing around the Titanic after your mother and impeccably dressed little sister is so much of a life, right enough. How dare I think otherwise?”

“How dare you judge me based on my lack of independence, Harold?”

“I’m making you a promise right here and now. Before this ship docks in America, I’m getting you a life.”

“Harry...”

“Even if I have to spend every single second of every waking moment of every day with you, I will make sure you have the tools you need to live a good goddamn life.”

“Is that a backwards way of asking to be friends?”

“Oh Barkworth. We both know we’re going to be much more than friends.”

*

“Do you have any scars?”

“I have one where I broke my leg when I was seven.”

“How’d you manage that? I would’ve thought your mother wrapped you up and never let you leave the house.”

“I fell off a horse, ok? And it was with my father. He was less...”

“Controlling?”

“I was going to see obsessive, but controlling works. What about you?”

“I have one on my back, neck, thumb, foot...”

“Did you even have parents?”

“No, but that’s not the point.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s ok.”

“How did you get them?”

“When I was fifteen I developed a love for protesting.”

“Protesting?”

“Yeah. Civil rights, equality, that sort of thing. I think everybody should be treated the same, no matter who they love.”

“...”

“Anyway, I got the scars from that. Police came to break up the marches, I tried to protect people. I almost died. No biggie.”

*

 

“Any plans for America then, Harold?”

“I think I’m going to get a tattoo.”

“I can’t tell if you’re trying to be rebellious or just stupid.”

 

“This is why I don’t talk to you people.”

“Don’t lump me with my mother, please.”

“Fine.”

“What were you planning to get?”

“’I can’t change’ on my wrist.”

“You can’t change what?”

“Anything. Everything. How much power do we really have over our own destinies?”

“Do you just write things out like that and learn them off the night before?”

“Are my deep thoughts impressing you?”

“Perhaps. Why don’t you get my name tattooed? Considering you seem so in love with me.”

“Good plan. ‘Louis’, right across my chest.”

“Wait, are you actually being serious?”

“Why not? You only have one life. Might as well live it.”

“You’re crazy, Gracey.”

“You love me really.”

*

Louis wasn’t exactly sure how time moved so quickly when he was with Harry, because before he knew strictly what had happened, the sun was rising once again over the horizon and the air was still and bright. He must’ve fallen asleep eventually, because he woke up that morning with his head resting on Harry’s chest, which was softly rising and falling. Louis’ eyes drifted to Harry’s face, and he watched him for a few seconds as he slept. A gentle smile was on his features, despite his eyebrows being furrowed. 

Even though he was still groggy and confused early in the morning, Louis could remember in explicit detail everything that had happened the night before. It was as if he was hyper aware of every moment Harry had made, every sound that he uttered. He knew now the boy was a singer, because he had whispered a song to Louis as the older boy was falling asleep.

Now he was aware that Harry’s hands were bigger because they compared the size of their palms against the backdrop of the starry night. He knew that the younger boy had bad posture because he was a paperboy in his youth. He knew that Harry wanted a home, that he was tired of feeling alone, that he dreamt of the time he would fall in love and be able to express that to the world. Louis didn’t really understand why he wouldn’t be able to, and when he had asked the other boy, Harry had skirted past the subject and moved onto another question.

Louis told Harry more things about himself than Eleanor knew. More than his mother knew, even more than his sister knew about him. Harry was told about his insecurities, about how he felt scared to talk to people sometimes, how he loved his sister but hated her at the same time for constantly outshining him. He managed to divulge almost his entire life story through the eight hour conversation, and there wasn’t a single moment of silence. He knew without a doubt that even if there was silence it would be peaceful, like the gentle motion of the waves.

Harry rose from his slumber a few minutes later. Louis was still curled up in his arms. They looked at each other like they were about to kiss, and all of a sudden, Harry’s lips were on Louis’.

A million different thoughts whizzed through Louis’ head. Most obviously was one question: why in the name of God was a man kissing him on the lips? Men weren’t meant to kiss men! Slightly less obvious was the fact that it felt good.

Really good.

Why did it feel good?

Should his eyes be open? Closed? Should he push Harry away? Slap him? That’s what Eleanor did that time a commoner persisted in flirting with her at a bar. Harry was third class. Louis was first class. If his mother was here right now, he would be thrown overboard. If security were here right now, the same would happen, or maybe worse.

When Harry pulled away, Louis battled with ‘Please, come closer’ and ‘What would make you think that was a good idea’. Instead, “What would make you come closer” came out, and that just resulted in another kiss and more confused feelings.

Their bodies became an intertwining mess of disarrangement and blurred lines. Harry ended up pulling Louis onto his lap and feeling the tanned skin usually hidden by stiff shirts and buttoned blazers. The sun smiled on the couple, who were so entranced in each other they almost didn’t hear laughing coming from the other side of the deck. The sound alone was enough to make both of them jump apart, but it felt differently to Louis than when he moved away from Eleanor. 

Harry was a magnet, and he was the pole.

Louis bounced up from the loungers and stood in front of Harry. His hair was a tousled mess and Louis tried his best not to notice the pale flush on the young male’s face. “Harry... are you...”

A hand covered Louis’ mouth. “Don’t say it,” Harry hissed lowly. “Not here. Do you want me...”

“Arrested? Killed?” Louis whisper-shouted, his throat closing over with the threat of tears. “What exactly could this mean for us Harry? Why would you even do that? Now I wa...”

“You want what, Louis? Because I know exactly what I want.” 

The conversations of last night flooded back into Louis’ mind, and Harry smiled because he knew. Did it really matter what Harry was? Could he ignore the fact that he kissed him and just continue being friends? Even if it was the best kiss he had ever experienced...

It didn’t just make him want more. It made him crave the taste of Harry’s lips as if they were the oxygen he breathed. 

“What do you want?” Louis asked, his pulse slowing down to normal once more, now that the voices had disappeared below the hull. 

Harry looked at him with an expression that made Louis feel as if he should know the answer. “I’m tired of feeling alone.” Louis’ lips formed a straight line as he nodded. “Me too.”  
But no matter whether Louis was OK with this or not, one thing was certain to both of them.

Nobody could know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for getting this to almost 50 hits! Can I have some more kudos please to know you've all liked it? :) I hope to update before the end of the week again! :)


	4. Storge

It was 13th April 1912, and Louis was so tired at lunch that day he almost fell asleep in his soup. After kissing Harry goodbye once again despite his better judgement, he had returned to his room. He was almost surprised when he looked in the mirror and appeared exactly the same as he had the previous day. It was almost as if nothing had changed, but Louis knew better.

Harry had replaced everything that was familiar to him with new and exciting experiences. When he scrutinised his reflection, he was just about expecting to see the imprint of Harry’s lips on his skin. Instead, all that was different was messed up hair and a loose shirt. He ran his hands through his hair and forced himself to get changed into another tight suit and glossy patent shoes he didn’t recognise. Eleanor must’ve bought them for him and left them in his room the night before after realising he wasn’t there.

His mother didn’t do as much as raise her head throughout the entire meal, but then again neither did Louis. Beatrice was the only Barkworth to speak at lunch, and considering she was most often the one who received all the attention anyways, nobody really missed the omitted conversation. She chattered away and threw her blonde curls behind her shoulders and laughed with the wait staff, but Louis just couldn’t bring himself to smile. Not with the heavy burden resting on his shoulders.

After lunch he returned to his quarters for what he believed to be a short nap. He couldn’t get to sleep. 

Harry was all that he could see.

He lay there for at least two hours before he heard the soft clicking of his door opening. His head whipped around, half of him expecting to see a mass of brown curls and lanky limbs peeping around the door frame. Instead, long skirts swished into the room and sat down on the side of the bed. This time, Louis didn’t shy away. 

His head rested on Eleanor’s lap, and her white dress was soon soaked with tears.  
She did what any good friend would do. She kept talking away as if Louis wasn’t falling apart beside her.

She ignored it.

*

Harry practically danced down to the food cart that afternoon. He whistled as he waited in the line he constructed, did the waltz when the queue moved and thumped Howard eagerly on the back as he chomped on his waffle. 

“You seem happy today,” Howard said with a grin that was nowhere near the size of Harry’s. “Why might that be?” Harry took another bite of his lunch and then threw pieces of it into Howard’s mouth, just like they used to do when they were teenagers. With each piece Howard caught, Harry spoke another word.

“I. Think. I’m. In. Woops you missed that one! Love.”

Howard almost choked on the waffle. “In love?” He exclaimed loudly, prompting several strange glances from the other waiters. Harry was too caught up in his euphoria to care. 

“What the hell happened last night?”

“Listen here, Howie. I was born with an enormous need for affection, and a terrible need to give it,” Harry said, draping his arm around the waiter’s shoulders. “And now I’ve found someone to give it too!”

Yet again, his enthusiasm was met by mild scepticism. “I’m happy for you Harry, really I am, it’s just... When did you meet this girl? And how do you know you’re in love after one night together? Are you sure it’s not just lust?”

Harry got a hold of Howard’s tie and pulled him close to his face. Howard knew Harry better than almost anyone; he knew the younger boy’s insane disregard for personal space, but this was pushing it. “Move back there a little Harry...”

“I just know this person’s the one!” Harry yelled, so loud Howard was almost positive the first class on the upper deck must’ve heard him screaming. “She must be pretty special,” Howard allowed finally, and this led to Harry giving him a wet kiss on his cheek and wrapping his arms around him. “But – and I mean this in the nicest possible way Harry – you’ve said you were in love before, and those people weren’t exactly nice to you...” “Hey,” Harry said with a carefree attitude and a shrug to his shoulders. “Love will tear us apart. But we can’t get enough, can we?” Howard let out an exasperated sigh. 

“No. I guess we can’t.”

“And besides,” Harry chirped, swinging around the doorframe of the ship’s kitchen. “This is the ship of dreams! What could possibly go wrong here?”

Howard was about to state that any number of things could go wrong – most of them involving an unsolved murder or bomb – but with a smile bigger than any one he had ever seen before on his best friend’s face, he couldn’t bring himself to pull Harry down to earth. The younger boy skipped into the kitchen, grabbing the arms of some of the waiters and swinging them round, winking at the maids who were gossiping over a block of cheese. Eventually Harry slid up beside Richie, who was leaning on the counter testing out the various tasters Chef had set out for him. “I’m in love, Richie,” Harry declared dramatically, pushing himself up to sit on the counter. 

Richie too was familiar with the many times Harry had been drowning in affection before, but he didn’t let his dubiousness show. Instead a natural smile appeared on his face, which Harry replicated instantaneously. 

“Who is it?” Richie asked, as he offered a forkful of food to Harry. The curly haired boy took it, which at least gave Richie some peace and quiet to continue reading the menu as Harry chewed. However, silence only lasts so long. 

“A beautiful person. We talked almost all night, and I felt like I sort of knew them but I don’t? It’s really weird. They just... get me, you know what I mean?”

Richie knew what he meant.

“And they didn’t judge, even though this person has every right to judge me... Did I mention they were first class?”

“No you didn’t,” Richie said, and a heavy feeling set in his chest. First and third class weren’t exactly meant to mix. Richie wasn’t even sure if it was legal. “How did you meet them again?”

Harry seemed even more excited by his questioning. He was absolutely glowing, perhaps more so than even Howard had seen him before. “We crashed into each other. Literally.” Harry let out a teenager-ish sigh and fell back against the counter, sliding gracefully onto the floor. Or at least as gracefully as a six foot two, lanky, nineteen year old can manage. But even through his glee at newfound love, Harry could tell that his use of gender neutral pronouns didn’t go unnoticed. 

Howard refused to meet his eyes.

*

Harry spent the next couple of hours down in the ship’s kitchen, enjoying the type of delicacies that were foreign to him in Belfast. Most of the cooks there were French, and so besides the fact he couldn’t understand a word of what they were saying, they seemed to like him a lot. And Harry liked their food a lot too.

“You know what, Howie?” Harry called out cheerfully, simply to see how the waiter would react. Instead of ignoring him as he had done for the previous length of time, Howard actually turned around to Harry’s astonishment, even if his smirk was a little forced, and his voice exasperated. “What, Harry?” 

“I think I should’ve got a job as a waiter here. Means I could just spend my time hanging out here doing nothing.” His expression was one of playfulness, and Howard had seen it enough times to know Harry was aiming for a bet to be placed. So he went along with it, calling back, “If it’s so easy Gracey, you do it!” Harry let out a loud, sudden laugh along with a defiant “I will!”

Richie shrugged off his own black jacket that he had received as a gift for Christmas. “Here,” he said, passing it over to Harry. “My boss gave me this. You need to look the part.” Harry mouthed a thank you in between Howard dropping plates of food onto his arms. The young boy mimicked dropping the dinners several times on the way out, which only resulted in Howard becoming more frustrated and the cooks laughing more than they had all weekend. 

“You should come by more often!” The chef called out, his laugh deep and manly. “You bring some light into the place.” With that, Harry tap danced his way out of the kitchen and into the corridor, whistling a merry tune under his breath.

*

Once again, Louis avoided Mrs Barkworth’s eyes and instead focused solely on his plate.  
However, he could not ignore the feel of Eleanor’s stare in the side of his head. She kept looking over at Louis with the appearance of a concerned mother. He gave a weak smile when ‘family’ friends talked to him, and swayed to the low, repetitive song of the piano. Ultimately, he got to the point where he couldn’t take it anymore. That mark had became increasingly easier to reach since meeting Harry. 

He made his way across the room to Eleanor, who was talking away to a greying gentleman. Louis could tell by the man’s stance he was interested in much more than Eleanor’s opinion on the political issues surrounding women’s votes, and considering he had known the girl since he was young he felt some kind of duty to protect her.

He plastered a thin smile on his face and casually integrated himself into the conversation, putting his hand on the mid of Eleanor’s back. “Do you mind if I intrude?” Louis asked with a light laugh. The man then turned his attention to the diamond ring on Eleanor’s finger, seemed to consider staying before thinking better of it, and with a last (almost scathing) glance at Louis, “No, of course not Mr Barkworth. Nice to meet you, Miss Robertson,” before skulking away.

Louis’ hand immediately dropped from Eleanor’s back, and slammed itself inside his trouser pocket. Eleanor let out a brief sigh of relief at the interruption and flashed Louis a bright white smile. “Thank you,” She said, and just when she opened her mouth to say more Louis cut her off.

“I’m going to see Harry. Can you cover for me?”

Louis could tell Eleanor was suspicious of the relationship he shared with the other boy. She knew he had been lying about his sore head on the day he met Harry, and she knew he hadn’t been in his room that night because she came to drop some new shoes off.  
Hell would freeze over before Louis divulged anything to her. 

Ultimately she let out a groan of frustration and nodded, which caused a considerable smile to appear on Louis’ face. “Be back before dark this time though. Is that so much to ask?”  
The grin changed into a fond look. “You don’t know Harry.”

“Sounds like you’re in love with him.” Eleanor teased, but before she could even let out a laugh Louis blurted, “Well I’m not!”

Shit. That was too fast.

Eleanor’s eyebrows narrowed further and her hand found its way to her hip. “Are you not telling me something, Mr Barkworth?”

This time, Louis was sure to maintain a cool composure as he shook his head. “What could I possibly have to keep from you? I’ve known you over ten years.”

Although the fact of their long acquaintanceship was true, Eleanor was not entirely convinced Louis had ever told her the whole truth; he was the kind of person who hid himself behind thin veils of sarcasm and deflection of questions that proved even remotely personal. She had often wondered what had happened to make him that way, but considering it was difficult to even get Louis’ favourite food out of him (pot roast with a large helping of baked potatoes,) she thought it would merely destroy any foundations of a friendship that had been constructed over the years, if they even existed.

She knew she was fighting a pointless battle, so she lifted her hand to wave him away, and tried desperately to hide her hurt at the quickness with which he ran.

*

When Louis made his way up to the top deck, Harry wasn’t there. They had made plans the previous night to meet again, but Louis realised suddenly that they hadn’t even thought to discuss a time. He contemplated going back down to dinner, but that would only prompt more inquisition from Eleanor, so he decided against it. 

Instead, he leaned himself against the white railings of the ship, peering over into the water. It churned around the boat in silver froths, which Louis took to mean they were going faster that had been described in the brochure. The first day of being on the Titanic, Louis would’ve given anything to get off it again. Now, he wasn’t sure he ever wanted the trip to end. The ocean was navy, almost black, and the sun was glowing orange in the losing sky. He bent over the only thing that was preventing a watery death, and closed his eyes as he tasted the salt in the air and felt the breeze of the powering ship blow through his hair. There were barely any people on the deck considering this was dinnertime, and besides, it had been a red sky that morning which meant rain was imminent. The women wouldn’t dare risk getting their ensembles soaked at the expense of a gorgeous view, and the men wouldn’t go anywhere there was a lack of ladies to woo. 

When Louis opened his eyes again and straightened up, his knuckles were pure white from grasping onto the metal. He could only bring himself to let go when he moved two steps back. 

“I’m guessing you have a fear of water then?” A low, rumbling voice came from behind him. Louis knew without looking that it was Harry. He had already memorized the nuances in the younger boy’s tone, the pleasant Irish lilt to his words and the slow method he used to speak, as if he was thinking out every word before saying it. Louis nodded his head hesitantly, half expecting to be made fun of. Instead, Harry came over to him, pushing him slightly closer to the barrier and rested his head on the other boy’s shoulder.

Harry’s hands were holding firmly onto the railing, which at least comforted Louis that he wasn’t going to fall over and drown, at least not on Harry’s watch. This gave him the courage to turn his back to the ocean and face Harry, a pale blush on his cheeks.  
Louis only noticed then how he had to stand on his tiptoes to reach up to Harry’s height at the same time as Harry himself did. They moved in one fluent movement, Louis hopping up on the first rung of the railing, Harry placing the hand that wasn’t holding the barrier on the middle of Louis’ back for support. And after a quick moment of pause to check for the sound of intruding voices, their lips grazed against each other’s, softly at first before becoming desperate. Louis let go of the railing on which he stood completely now that Harry was holding onto him, laughing, “Don’t let me go,” between pecks. Harry smiled against Louis’ lips and whispered back, “Wasn’t planning on it, Barkworth.”

They stayed there for a good three minutes, enjoying the feeling of being with each other and the calmness of the night in which they were experiencing it. Louis eventually forced his way past his limits to wrap himself completely around Harry, resting his thighs on the other boy’s hips. The soft whispers of emerging aristocrats made Harry move away from the bar and across the deck, still holding Louis. The darkest part of the hull was behind one of the few lifeboats, where it was almost impossible to see unless you were at a precise angle. They both ended up landing with a rather ungraceful thump on the other side of the raft, laughing into each other’s mouths.

It was like they spent a year together in that corner; the adrenalin pumping around their bodies at almost being caught further increasing their desire for each other. Eventually, they both managed to realise they couldn’t spend their entire evening kissing, so they made their way back to the place they had conversed for hours on the first night.

“Where did you get the fancy jacket?” Louis asked once they had sat down on a bench, his fingers drawing shapes absentmindedly on Harry’s palm. He especially focused on the rough patch of skin on Harry’s thumb, the remainder of his scar. He had the distinct feeling of familiarity at the jacket, but considering everything to do with Harry was so intimate to him, he chalked it down to coincidence.

But as his mother told him once when he was six years old, “Too many coincidences mean only one thing, Louis. It’s fate.”

Harry smiled, his fingers clenching around Louis’. “I was helping out in the kitchen for a while. Howard – you know the one who married my sister? – needed some comic relief, and I was just the person to give it to him.”

Louis let out a snicker at that. “I’m sure.”

“Yeah, and then my old mate gave it to me to help me look the part. Said his boss gave him it or something. He’s not really the type of person to have lavish waistcoats.” Harry paused, licking his lips which had become chapped in the evening air. “I’m not really either, when I think about it. Not quite sure why you’re hanging out with me, to be honest.”

Déjà-vu can be a strange phenomenon. It can help you remember things you had previously forgotten, or it can cloud the memories of things that actually happened. That’s why Louis usually paid no attention to it. 

Of course, Harry wasn’t ‘usually’.

Yet, because he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was that the boy’s words reminded him of, he decided in classic Barkworth style to glaze over it for fear of feeling incompetent at his forgetfulness. “Maybe it’s the way you’re a breath of fresh air in an otherwise claustrophobic world?”

The corner of Harry’s lips turned up in a smirk. “And you blame me for thinking things up beforehand.”

Louis put on an indignant expression. “I did not! How dare you accuse me of such a thing?”  
“How dare you accuse me of such a thing,” Harry mocked, in a very accurate London accent. “Come on, just admit it Louis. You spend every second thinking about how wonderful I am.”

Once again, Louis’ mind screamed at him to shut the hell up, but his body acted on its own will. “Pretty much, yeah.”

And whilst Louis was internally beating himself up for saying something so inherently pathetic to a boy that could rival the beauty of the English countryside, Harry was looking up at the stars with a smile on his face thinking that this was a place where he didn’t feel alone.

*

“So. You’re afraid of water then?”

“Please don’t.”

“I’m not going to. I just want to know the story.”

“Not everything has a deep meaning behind it, Harry.”

“I know. But most things do. And I have a feeling your fear of water is one of those things.”

“Harry...”

“Have I or have I not proven myself to be extremely trustworthy?”

“You have but....”

“Have you or have you not told me on multiple occasions that you feel like you could tell me  
anything and not be judged for it?”

“Well, yes but I didn’t think you heard...”

“I heard. Just tell me the goddamn story!”

“Drop it Harry! Just drop it. I’ll tell you anything else. Anything. Apart from this. Just please, please. Leave it alone.”

*

“Why are you marrying her if you don’t love her?”

“We’ve been friends for years.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Me and Howard were friends for years. Doesn’t mean I’m going to marry him and spend our lives together in a miserable coexistence at best.”

“I care about her.”

“Enough to marry her?”

“Probably not.”

“Then why, Louis?”

“Why are you even asking me this? We can’t be together, Harry. Not really.”

“Do you think I need reminded of that? You think I don’t think about that all the goddamn time?”

“Sorry. I know what you mean though.”

“Indulge me.”

“I thought I was the snappy one around here?”

“Oh, so you can be an asshole, but when I act like one it’s suddenly an issue?”

“Exactly, Gracey. You’re learning.”

“You still haven’t answered the question. You seem very good at avoiding things.”

“It’s a skill I picked up from my father.”

“Ah. Now we get down to the sad childhood story.”

“Not funny, Harry.”

“The answer?”

“Eleanor’s a nice girl. She’s the only girl in a house of four boys, so she has no chance of picking up any inheritance. If she marries me, she won’t have to go to the workhouse when her father dies. I’m doing her a favour.”

“If that’s what you have to convince yourself to go through with it, then who am I to crush your illusions?”

*

“Have you ever even been down to third class?”

“Of course I have! My mother brings me there regularly on her daily walk around the ship.”

“I can detect apparent sarcasm. You seem to do that a lot.”

“It helps me.”

“With what?”

“Life.”

“Oh. That makes sense.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Life sucks sometimes. A lot of the time, actually.”

“I tried telling my mother that once. She told me she didn’t need a depressed son. I needed to be strong to take over from Father.”

“When did he die?”

“When I was ten.”

“Wow. That’s young.”

“He was over fifty.”

“I meant for you. Becoming the father figure.”

“Oh.”

“I know exactly what would make life a little less crappy tonight.”

“We are not going there, Harry.”

“I wasn’t going to suggest that actually. Unless...”

“No.”

“Fine. Three words: Third. Class. Party.”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for getting this to over sixty views! I really appreciate anybody who's reading this and who has left kudos. Can I maybe get a comment if you're enjoying the story?? Or a few more kudos? I'm hoping to post the next chapter on Tuesday/Wednesday :)


	5. Eros

The hours following those words consisted of shouts, cheering, tasting alcohol on Harry’s lips and the sound of feet pounding on wooden floors. Louis couldn’t remember much when he woke up from his nap at about 7 o’clock, but he recalled in excruciating detail how Harry introduced him as, “My Louis,” to some and, “This is the guy I told you about,” to others. The way in which the waiter avoided his eye contact as he shook his hand. How Harry’s bare skin felt against his.

Ok, so maybe he didn’t stick to his word. But how was he supposed to when they both stumbled back to Harry’s room, which was empty of roommates who were continuing to party? How was he to take a step back as Harry latched onto his neck and ran his hands along his chest? 

He knew that when Harry (who was asleep beside him) woke up, they would both chalk the experience down to alcohol induced friskiness rather than something they had been harbouring inside themselves for days. Louis knew they wouldn’t talk about how once wasn’t enough, how Harry started crying afterwards because somewhere in his muddled mind he thought he had forced the other boy into it, and how Louis kept telling him, “I wanted this. I wanted you,” until the younger boy finally cried himself to sleep. He knew they wouldn’t discuss how Harry woke up in the middle of the night panting, sweat dripping down his brow and his eyes wide, and how Louis had to tell him to calm down because his roommates were back and passed out in their beds. How Harry never stopped kissing his shoulder gently until he drifted back into unconsciousness, and how the younger boy refused to tell Louis what the dream had been about.

Louis prayed they wouldn’t talk about the whispered conversation, in which he admitted, “I’m scared. I think I’m falling in love with you,” and then when Harry didn’t answer adding, “You’re beginning to feel a bit like home.” That time, Harry did respond, and shuffled even closer to Louis if that was possible, murmuring sleepily, “This bed was never made for two.” 

Louis wasn’t quite sure what kind of answer that was, but he didn’t push it, simply because Harry looked beautiful cuddled into his side.

Louis was the type of person who would usually prefer silence to talking about things. Discussion made everything seem more massive and... real. Perhaps that’s why this time was different. His entire life, he had been hiding from what he never wanted to become, and now that he had found his way, he just wanted to talk about it for as long as he could before his voice gave out.

Harry was the type of person who always preferred talking to silence. Silence harboured up feelings that could otherwise be addressed, and made you other-think every little detail as you remembered them. Silence created scars, and Harry had too many of them already. Yet, this time was different. He thought of it less like something he wanted to scream out to oblivion as he had previously wanted. Rather, his relationship with Louis was a precious secret, something not to be discussed lest it be ruined. 

Despite their differing stances on the situation, the next morning sprawled out just as Louis had imagined it would, talking very little and kissing a lot. It was almost ten o’clock in the morning on the 14th April before Louis could bear to pull himself away from the other boy, who walked him up as far as the second class corridors before they parted with a lingering kiss behind the stairwell. 

Louis was beginning to think Harry was a problem, at the same time Harry realised Louis was the answer to his.

*

It was midday on the 14th of April when the couple saw each other again in the dining room. 

Louis had noticed that Eleanor was more reserved than usual, engaging in less polite small talk and her stare was almost vacant. He didn’t bother to ask her what was wrong. After last night, the wall between them just seemed to grow faster than it ever had before. Louis often wished that they could go back to when they were fourteen years old, when there was no pressure to fall in love or get married or create a life together. When he used to tease Eleanor for liking him and she responded by laughing and telling him to get away from her when he tried to steal a kiss.

There was no hope of returning now. They both knew it, and it was one of Louis’ biggest regrets.

Harry on the other hand spent the two hours after Louis left staring at the bottom of the top bunk’s mattress. He too had an existential crisis; to go up to Louis, or wait until he came down to him?

The original school-girl feelings associated with a crush had passed after the last night and in their place intense cravings to just hear Louis’ voice filled every void of Harry’s thoughts. Unlike Louis, he wasn’t one to think much about the pure absurdity of falling for somebody he had known for a few days, as he wanted to believe that fate would lead the way. It hadn’t worked for him in the past, but something felt different this time. He wanted to be with Louis until the day he died.

He had to go up to him. Maybe Louis was worrying too. But if he went up he might seem too desperate. He probably (definitely) crossed that line last night by freaking crying after sex. That wasn’t smooth by anybody’s standards. Louis seemed to deal with it well though, and he didn’t think Harry was losing his marbles or anything, which could only be a good thing. But then again maybe it was a bad idea. They both needed space. He had to go see Louis. But he couldn’t. But he had to.

He had to go see Louis.

Even if it was just to return the other boy’s jacket which he had left under Harry’s bed. That was the only reason. Harry danced down the halls towards the dining room, picking up a few crumpets on the way from the food cart and tapping Howard playfully on the top of his head. Howard turned around to watch Harry running towards what could only be the dining room, and couldn’t help but feel dread creep into his stomach. 

There was no doubt in his mind about what Harry was, not after meeting Louis last night and watching how the two of them acted like they were on some kind of honeymoon. Howard just didn’t think the boy was being careful enough, or knew the repercussions of his actions. Much like his wife, he was worried about how Harry just seemed to trust and trust and trust, and didn’t understand that there are some people out there who have simply no goodness in them.

Harry used Richie’s jacket to pose as a waiter for the second time in as many days, taking the food for Louis’ table from one of the other workers, who gratefully took the reprise from duty to run over to the bar. He carried the trays over to the Barkworths’ table and tried to hide his smirk, just like Louis tried to hide the way his cheeks burned up at the sight of Harry. 

“Here is your steak, miss,” Harry said with a smile and wink at Mrs Barkworth. She gave a laugh and started fanning herself with her napkin. Harry noted how she, like her son, blushed easily. “Oh my, you’re cheeky, aren’t you boy?” Louis was shocked to hear a teasing lilt to her voice. Harry looked sideways at Louis and said, “I try to be, mam.”   
Louis fought to control the fondness in his features as he watched Harry flirt harmlessly with his little sister. The only one at the table who was resistant to Harry’s charms was Eleanor, who maintained her look of mild annoyance through the entire meal. 

And, after what felt like a century, Harry came over to Louis and leaned over his shoulder, touching a lot more than was necessary to place the food on the table. His lips barely touched the other boy’s ear, but he could still hear the whispered, “Your ass looks amazing in those trousers”. Louis didn’t know everything about Harry, but he knew what Harry wanted, which was to make Louis go bright red and get flustered in front of his family. Simply to spite him, Louis ignored the tingle in his cheeks and murmured, “Funny. I was just thinking about how much better you’d look out of yours.”

Harry’s face was hilarious, and it bared a striking resemblance to Beatrice’s red dress. It took him a few moments to recover, but when he did, his voice revealed nothing. “I’ll hold you up on that, Mr Barkworth,” Harry responded eventually, louder this time as Howard started to lead him away from the table. This time, Louis couldn’t even hope to conceal the stupid smile on his face as butterflies fluttered around in his stomach; so intense that it almost put him off his lunch.

“Do you know that boy?” Louis’ mother asked him, still fanning herself. “Only to see,” Louis responded, and, as always, the lie flowed seamlessly off his tongue.

*

Louis spent a little more time in the dining room than usual before returning to his quarters. It was nothing to do with the fact that Harry continued to pose as wait staff, and the way in which he looked at Louis across the room as if he wished they were alone.

“I thought I asked you to be home by dark,” Eleanor snapped when Louis swung into his chamber later that afternoon. He had almost been expecting her presence so he wasn’t shocked to see her sitting on his bed, her arms crossed and a face that reminded him of a pissed off five year old. It was hard to take Eleanor seriously when all he could focus on was the flipping sensation in his stomach and the way the tips of his ears had been almost purple for the past twelve hours.

“I was home,” Louis whispered under his breath as he moved over to the dresser. He peered at his reflection in the mirror, and this time he could definitely notice a difference. His cheeks were glowing and his eyes were sparkling with the cheekiness that he had lacked since his father’s death. His previously clean shaven appearance had given way to short stubble. Louis gave himself a grin as his gaze travelled down to Harry’s shirt on his torso, and he pulled the collar of it up over his nose to breath in the scent.

He could still see Eleanor out of the corner of his eye, and she hadn’t moved from her previous position except to plaster an even more irritated expression on her features. “You don’t think you owe me any kind of explanation?” She questioned, raising an eyebrow. Louis could tell she was brewing for an argument, and arguments usually meant screaming and crying and admitting things in anger that you could never take back. And he didn’t like admissions. So he merely shrugged as he turned to face her and stated passively, “I don’t owe you anything.”

The effect was instantaneous. Eleanor hopped off the bed and took two long, uncharacteristically clumsy strides towards Louis before her hand made contact with his cheek. Little shoots of pain tingled on Louis’ skin, and he moved his fingers immediately to the blotch of redness on his face. There was silence after that, in which all that could be heard was Eleanor’s heavy breathing. That made Louis remember what his mother had said. “If you get angry, focus on your breathing. Just breathe, and it’ll all be fine.” It was one of the few pieces of good advice she had, and it allowed Louis to calm down enough to whisper, “What the bloody hell was that?”

“You don’t owe me ANYTHING?!” Eleanor screamed, her voice piercing through Louis’ brain and causing several of the china ornaments on his dresser to shake in fear. A waiter that had been passing the room jumped a little and closed the door, mouthing a ‘good luck’ to Louis. Judging by Eleanor’s expression, he would need it.

“Unless you have forgotten dearest, I am your fiancée,” Eleanor spat the last word out, and it felt like another slap in the face. “And I think that means I have every right for you to tell me what’s going on! I haven’t heard a goddamn thing come out of your mouth for the past ten years that I believe to be true. The only thing I do know about you is something you haven’t even said! I know for certain that the second this boat docks, you’ll grab that boy’s hand and run away with him, and I’ll never see you again! And you don’t OWE me? And now you’re just standing there looking like a wounded deer. Well guess what sweetie. I’m not the bad person here. You are.”

After the outburst, the room was calm once more. A lump in his throat was threatening to choke Louis, and he could taste blood from where he had bitten his cheek. He had battled with himself constantly during that not to scream back all what he thought of her, but after realising that there was nothing actually wrong with Eleanor apart from the fact she was unspectacular, that was enough to convince him he wouldn’t win the argument. Louis stared into Eleanor’s eyes, which were a dimmer shade of green than Harry’s and filled with angry tears. He had seen her cry many times before, but this was the first time in a long time that he was the cause.

He pursed his lips into a straight line and bit his tongue, desperate to keep the words from spilling out as they did all too often. Eleanor obviously wasn’t expecting Louis to stay silent for so long, because she was quaking with frustration when she snapped, “Well?”

When he did respond, it came out in a shaky voice and made the tears fall down his cheeks. “Don’t shout at me,” He murmured, no longer able to maintain eye contact. He pushed past Eleanor, who now wore a look of bewilderment and mild regret, and bolted out of the door, up the corridor, down the stairs, pushing past people roughly just to get far, far away. Eventually his lungs stung with a lack of oxygen and he had to stop. He had reached the deck by that point, and he slumped against the wall just behind the lifeboats and buried his face in Harry’s shirt.

He tried to tell himself it was just because Eleanor cared for him that she was so worried. She just got the delivery wrong. Ten years of resentment exploding out in one argument.  
But yet, Louis couldn’t convince himself entirely. Mostly because the things Eleanor said struck a chord with him.

They were all true. 

At that moment, life felt like a fight, and Louis felt like he was losing.

*

It was the 14th April and six o’clock on the Titanic, and life was going on for everybody on it. The waves lapped the side of the ship as men bowed to their wives and danced   
politely around the ballroom. Third class passed around beers and sang at the top of their voices about new life in America. Half of second class was milling around their deck, the other half retired to their bedrooms for the night, soaking up the luxury of the boat whilst they had the chance. Mrs Barkworth snacked on tasters on the buffet and laughed with wrinkling men whilst Beatrice played with Eleanor and her dolls. Richie was dancing Ragtime with a blonde girl down in second class and Howard was putting on a dazzling smile as he passed out delicate glasses of champagne to the aristocrats, counting down the minutes until his shift was over. Harry spent his evening trying to locate Louis, after Eleanor proved to be very unhelpful when he bumped into her in the corridor. When he had asked, “Do you know where Louis is?” she had responded with a glare and, “I would’ve thought he would be with you. After all, you’re all he can talk about.” In retrospect, it probably wasn’t smart for Harry to allow a grin to form on his face at her words, and for him to whisper, “Really?” Now he was absolutely no further to knowing the other boy’s whereabouts.

Louis had moved from his position on the top deck behind the lifeboats down to third class. He had no idea what necessitated him to constantly need Harry beside him regardless of his emotional wellbeing, but all he knew was he craved the other boy. He just wanted Harry to tell him how perfect he was to him, and to whisper more about what their life would be like after the boat docked, so that, even if only for a moment, he could escape the cruelness of reality.

Obviously fate wasn’t working for the couple that night, because the second Harry returned to third class once more, Louis was in the first class kitchens, scoffing pie with the chef.

At approximately seven o’clock, they both, almost simultaneously, decided to stop searching. After all, it was only one day and what was that in the grand scheme of things? They would have their entire lives to spend together. And, with that, Louis returned to Eleanor’s quarters and played with her and his little sister, which at least prompted Eleanor to remove some of the remaining coldness from her features. Louis couldn’t forget as easily, simply because he wasn’t a good enough person to forgive.

Harry spent the evening playing poker with Howard in his chamber. “I thought you were supposed to be working?” Harry asked with a laugh halfway through the game. Howard held up a hand for silence as he concentrated on his deck. “Check,” He stated simply before visibly relaxing. He had always been fiercely competitive. Harry nodded, sorting through his own cards. “Night off,” Howard explained. “Thought I deserved one, considering I haven’t even had an hour break since I started here. I think I might go for a walk after this game if you don’t mind.”

Harry understood. “Have you even seen the ship yet?” he asked. Howard shook his head.

“Not all of it.” An almost childlike smirk of anticipation appeared on his handsome features. “But I’ve heard from the other boys about the beauty of it all. I can’t believe we’re here, Harry. We’ve made it now, haven’t we?”

Howard had informed Harry before the game started that he had another trip on the Titanic to complete before his work contract was over. That meant he and Josephine were to move to America as well in under a month. The thought of reuniting with his sister caused a weight to settle in his chest, but Harry forced a smile and whispered, “Yeah. I guess we have.”

“And you’ve met a very important person on this ship, from what I’ve gathered.”

The expression on the younger boy’s face didn’t give away any surprise that he may have felt at Howard’s statement. “That I have,” He allowed finally, picking up a card and smirking at the pair in front of him. 

It was the deciding move now. Before, Howard would’ve allowed Harry to win, simply because he loved seeing the dimple and sparkle in his eyes. But this time, he had no hesitation as he laid his cards out on the table in front of the other boy. “I win,” He declared, before looking up at Harry intently. “You never were a good liar.” Harry couldn’t disagree. “I don’t have any money,” Harry said, and Howard laughed. “Who the hell comes to play cards and doesn’t bring a bet? Fine. You can just tell me something honestly instead.”

Oh no.

“Do you love him, Gracey?”

This was one of those moments in life where you have to decide whether to tell the truth or lie to preserve someone’s feelings. Howard was a complicated man, and Harry had never been quite sure what he thought about any particular subject. He didn’t like to talk about things, so the fact that he was asking for an admission was uncharacteristic at best. Eventually, Harry answered, as simply as he could muster.

“Yes.”

Howard looked down at the table with a look that said that’s what he had feared. Silence settled over the small room like an uneasy fog on a spring morning. Finally, Howard spoke, but only to ask another question. “Love as in you and me love, or love as in how I love Josephine?”

Harry couldn’t help but notice how many times the word ‘love’ had been brought up whilst he was on this ship, both in thoughts and in speech. “Depends how much you love Josephine.”

“More than myself or anything else.”

“That sounds about right then.”

There were two possible reactions to this. Howard could break down, scream and demand for Harry to leave his room and his life and never want to talk to him again, or he could be strangely alright with the fact that his best friend/brother in law was in love with another man.

He chose the second option. 

Harry prided himself on being a good judge of people and how they would react to certain situations if they presented themselves. Yet, he had never expected Howard to give him   
a watery smile and whisper, “Well that’s good then. At least I know now.” 

The younger boy watched as his mentor, his friend, his brother, got up and moved over to the door of his chamber. Howard looked back for only a second, a slight dimple appearing in his cheek, before seeming to think better of it. 

Harry was left in the room with the soft click of the door.

*

The trip had been a lot of work for a fifteen year old girl. Louis often wondered how Beatrice managed to keep up the energy to be so constantly optimistic, how her jaws weren’t permanently aching from the smile she had etched on at all times, how the soles of her feet weren’t worn away with her dancing. Now he knew how she had managed it for all those years. She passed out on Eleanor’s bed at exactly half eight in the evening. Louis watched from the floor in front of the dollhouse as Eleanor rolled her over to the other side of the bed with such care, before wrapping her up tightly in the covers. He couldn’t help but wonder whether Harry wanted kids, and felt a pang in his chest as he realised he was never going to have any of his own.

“Do you want children, Eleanor?” He asked her as she rocked slowly beside Beatrice, running her hand along the girl’s thick blonde hair. This was one of the first questions he had asked her since the engagement, and it showed in the slight raise of her eyebrows. “Do you really care, Mr Barkworth?”

“Why do you always call me that? You didn’t used to.”

She didn’t respond to that.

“You used to call me Louis. Lou, even. What happened to us, Eleanor? Why did we change so much?”

As those words left Louis’ mouth, Eleanor was forced to break eye contact. Her hand tapped furiously on her lap. She used to bite her nails on the walk home from a day out at the river, where they skipped stones and went swimming in the summer months. It’s funny the things Louis remembered when he tried.

He moved from the dollhouse to beside Eleanor on bed and instinctively put his hand on top of her’s. She ceased tapping immediately and her head fit into the crook of his neck. They both knew they had been thrust together by their lost childhoods. Eleanor had spent her time basically raising her younger siblings as her mother was too busy wooing the neighbourhood behind her father’s back, and her father wasn’t much different. Louis had spent the time grieving for his father and bickering with his mother.

“We used to be each other’s reprise, didn’t we?” Eleanor murmured lowly, so as not to stir Beatrice from her slumber. Louis knew his sister enough to know that if the ship started sinking that very moment she wouldn’t wake up. Yet he indulged Eleanor, simply because since meeting Harry, he had preferred whispering. It made less of a dent that screaming, anyways. “Is it the fact that I’m ... you know?”

“No. You know I wouldn’t care if you were a murderer.” Louis let out a snuffle of a laugh. Eleanor went slightly red and gave him a light tap on the arm. “Maybe not. But you know what I mean.”

Louis nodded. He knew what she meant.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for the kudos and the follows and the views! You are all around amazing people and thank you so much for taking the time to read my fan fiction :) I hope you enjoy the chapter, and sorry it's a little late!


	6. Mania

When Louis returned to his own quarters at about a quarter past nine that night, Harry was reclining on his bed, entertaining himself by throwing a wad of paper up towards the ceiling and catching it again. Louis couldn’t say he wasn’t happy to see him, he was, but it was just the fact that... well... 

“How the hell did you get in here?” 

His voice echoed around the chamber and must’ve startled Harry, as the paper ball dropped from his grasp and hit him in the face. Louis couldn’t even bring himself to laugh, his eyes wide with confusion. Harry swung his legs around to the edge of the bed, threw the paper into the waste bin on the other side of the room with surprising precision and looked at Louis with a lopsided grin. “It’s not hard. Just get a master key from one of the maids, unlock the door, put the key back, and enter the room. Simple. Are you sure you went to college?”

That just raised more questions than it answered, but there was one in particular that Louis felt had to be asked. “Are you some kind of thief or something? Am I in danger being here?” He had hoped a small sliver of humour had been conveyed in his tone, but the way in which his voice shook on the word ‘danger’ betrayed his cool composure. 

At this, Harry’s smirk dropped off his face and was replaced with an almost parental look of reassurance. He moved off of the bed and towards Louis, and instinctively Louis crashed into the younger boy and wrapped his arms around him tightly. Harry reciprocated the action, and when he spoke once more, it was a whisper so that Louis could feel Harry’s lips on his neck. “Trust me. I’d rather die than put you in danger.”

Louis wanted to believe Harry’s rough tone, he really did. Perhaps it was how this revelation had made clear to him just how much he had yet to learn about the other boy, and brought up a segment of the prejudices his mother had embedded in him since birth. “I know that.”

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” Harry pulled back from the embrace, keeping Louis within arm’s length. His green eyes were swimming with concern, and Louis felt as if he was completely vulnerable to their gaze. He felt a lump form in his throat at their intensifying eye contact, and could barely form the words, “My father didn’t really tell me things that would’ve affected me, that’s all.”

Harry looked as if he was dissatisfied with this answer, and his tongue darted over his chapped lips. “What didn’t he tell you?” He questioned, as he guided Louis towards the bed. The couple settled into a comfortable position, Louis’ head resting on Harry’s chest, Harry’s hand rubbing circles on Louis’ back. Their legs were entwined like intricate branches on a tree, and if it weren’t for the tension in the room Louis would’ve marvelled at how they fitted so perfectly after such a short period of time.

Louis prided himself on keeping the secrets that his father had hidden from him unspoken to anyone outside of himself. The only person who knew some of the truth was Beatrice, and that was because she had lived in the same house as their father and was smart enough to pick up on the differences in his speech when he lied. She had always been extremely intelligent which contributed to this, as well as the fact that she was the child their father was closest to. For some reason, Mr Barkworth Senior couldn’t bring himself to look Louis in the eye for long periods of time, whereas he easily could with Beatrice. 

“Nothing massive,” Louis began, but his voice caught once more, and Harry let out an almost microscopic sigh. If they hadn’t been in such close proximity, Louis doubted he would’ve noticed, but Harry’s minor exhale created a surge of guilt at his secrecy. “Fine. It was pretty massive. But you have to swear on your life you’ll never tell anybody, alright?”  
Harry looked at him with the most seriousness he had expressed thus far. “I swear on your life.”

Louis looked at him. A slightly surprised expression materialised on Harry’s face at his words, but it was erased as quickly as it appeared. He shrugged, “You’re more important to me than anything. So, I’ll swear on you. Continue.”

“Father used to be in the British Army. He was one of the Commanding Officers, and he had an entire fleet of men under his control. He often brought me out on one of the ships for a fishing trip. Beatrice was only young at the time, she could barely remember, but he said a few things that struck me as... odd.” The way in which he spoke was broken words and choppy sentences.

Harry stayed silent, but he watched Louis with such intensity he could feel the colour rising up through his chest. Louis broke the eye contact and instead stared at their clasped hands. His own knuckles were white. “It was over twelve years ago when he spoke to me about this, but the way he was talking about it... He was the most excited he had ever been. His father had originally been from Germany, and he spoke a lot about how the great nation would return some day and take over Britain, and then we would all be sorry, or something along those lines.”

A mild look of confusion was the only response Louis received, so he hurriedly added, “I don’t really understand it either. But when I was sixteen, I joined the army, despite my mother’s protests.”

“I always did love a man in uniform.”

“Shut up Harry. I’m trying to tell a serious story here. Alright... Where was I?”

“Sorry. Sixteen. Joining the army.”

“Right. So, when I joined the army, I decided to look more into my father and his past. There were always suspicions in my mind, and that just made me feel guiltier about his  
death, you know?”

Harry nodded. He pretended not to notice how Louis seemed to be censoring himself as he went along.

“And I found out some things that were quite disturbing from one of my old mates in the forces, Billie. He told me that his uncle had informed him of an army general named Barkworth. Long story short, my father was a spy.”

“No offense Louis, but this doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world. At least you still had your father.”

“It gets worse.”

“Oh.”

“My father met my mother in Paris while he was on tour. She told me on multiple occasions of the romantic weekend they shared, and the memories they made, but only in fits and starts. She couldn’t talk about Father for long without crying. They had only known each other four days, but they got married that Tuesday.”

Now that he was saying it out loud, and considering his own position now, this no longer seemed so preposterous. 

“After he finished his tour, Father returned back home and had a child with my mother. They got into financial difficulties, so my father poured the remainder of their savings into a drugstore. Mother was terrified, of course. Everything they had was riding on this. But Father was sure it was going to make a massive profit, and fast. She was still in love at this point, and the baby was only two months old, so she stayed with him, out of desperation if nothing else. And he did make a profit. He made millions off of the drugstore and its chain stores, much to the astonishment of the neighbours. I’m sure you can guess what he was selling.”

Harry was a smart man, but it didn’t take intelligence to understand what Louis was insinuating. 

“He got into debt with some loan sharks, and they got angry. He got too big for his boots, so Mother said when I confronted her, and refused to pay them back. He told Mother he didn’t have enough, but they had millions at this point, millions. She couldn’t understand how much he could possibly owe. By this stage, the baby was five years old. In 1881, the loan sharks lost their patience, and they got their guns, and they came to our house and...”

Louis inhaled sharply.

“My older brother was killed. I never met him. Mother barely missed being murdered herself. There are other things my father did, but...”

“Nothing could ever be as bad as that,” Harry muttered, not quite knowing what else to say. Louis shook his head, his nose beginning to run slightly. “Do I have to talk more?” He asked, in such a timid voice Harry couldn’t force himself to prod farther. So he shook his head, and pulled Louis close to him, feeling the soft skin on the small of Louis’ back. They stayed there in silence for a while before Harry’s voice broke through.

“You’re still wearing my shirt,” He stated, staring at the fabric wrapped around Louis’ torso dumbly. Louis gave him a hesitant, lopsided smile.

“You want to help me take it off?”

Harry nodded, and this was the first time that day he was sure of what Louis wanted. 

Louis wanted him.

Before, they had been passionate and excited, desperate to touch every part of each other’s body and keep their lips on each other’s at all times. Now, their acts were weighted with loss and grief at the pain Louis had experienced before he had even been born. Their movements were heavy and their kisses filled with more emotion than ever before.  
And afterwards, they lay on the bed beside each other once again, their husky voices banishing the silence once more, a cigarette hanging out the corner of each of their mouths.

*

“So, you used to be a thief then?”

“Used to be, yes.”

“Mind explaining that a bit more? I’m actually quite surprised. You always struck me as an honest sort of person.”

“I am. I also loved my sister more than anything. You do what you need to survive.”

“I feel terrible for saying I can’t really relate to that.”

“That’s because you’ve got your life handed to you on a silver platter.”

“I’ve had problems too, Harry, you know that.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing, Mr Defensive. I would give anything to be in your position.”

“And you blame me for avoiding questions.”

“You make a good point. I started with little things, like bread and sweets from the shop around the corner, just enough to keep me and Josephine full. The orphanage didn’t have much food.”

“Started?”

“I’m getting there. When I was fifteen, almost sixteen, I got into a bad crowd. We stole a bunch of artwork from museums and stuff. I got enough money to pay rent for a couple  
years, but when one of the boys I worked with got shot by a police officer during a steal, I wanted out.”

“Wasn’t there better ways to earn money?”

“Tell me here, Barkworth. Who would hire a fifteen year old boy from Belfast, orphaned at four years of age, arrested twice and imprisoned for a week? You find someone and I’ll  
pay you.”

“Arrested?”

“Protests.”

“Ah. Do you steal anymore?”

“I told you, no. I want to though. You first class have all the good food. We get a couple slices of bread a day down here. If I would, I’d want to help.”

“You don’t think you could steal from the kitchens? I wouldn’t have thought they were more protected than art museums, but you’re the expert...”

“I never said I couldn’t, Lou. I said I wouldn’t. But I would teach someone else to.”

“No. No way.”

“Funny. I remember the last time you disagreed with one of my suggestions you didn’t really carry that through, did you? If I recall properly, you said you wouldn’t go there with me...”

“Harry...”

“And now you have, twice! Within as many days! You certainly boost a man’s confidence, Louis, if nothing else.”

“What would I need to do?”

“I should be a politician.”

*

The couple – now warmly wrapped up in a mixture of their own and each other’s clothes – made their way up towards the first class deck. It would be too late now for Louis’  
mother to be here, but he made sure to scan the room for a sight of her brown up-do, just in case. Harry’s eyes were sparkling with a devilish delight as he peered around the dining room also, focusing like an eagle on the waiters that passed by. Louis felt butterflies flutter around in his stomach, although they were less obvious as when he kissed Harry. He wasn’t sure if it was elation or nervousness that was making him feel so nauseous, but the adrenalin pumping around his body encouraged him to stay, even if it was against his better judgement.

It felt that even the mere act of talking was performing something illegal to Louis that night, but Harry felt no remorse about what he was going to help Louis do. He had constantly pondered over what he could’ve done differently on dark nights when he was alone with his thoughts, and he had regretted stealing from artists who poured their life onto the canvas. But these people couldn’t possibly miss a few kilograms of food, simply because of the mass expanse that seemed to be out constantly during the cruise. Harry’s fingers ghosted over Louis’, and that comforted the other boy enough to convince him to squeak out a question. 

“How do I start?” 

By this stage, they had moved from the dining room to the door of the kitchen. Harry knew his way around enough from the time he spent there with the chef, and he was pretty sure the canned foods were stored in the large freezer at the back of the room. He just had to make sure Louis kept his composure during the procedure. He pulled Louis into a dark corner near the door to the kitchen and held his upper arms tightly, looking him in the eye.

“You have to listen fast and memorise the plan, alright Lou?” Louis gulped thickly and nodded his head, his movements detached and awkward. Harry had to physically restrain himself from rolling his eyes. Louis was about as subtle as an elephant. “We’re both going to walk into the kitchen, and I’m going to introduce you to the chef. You talk to him for a while and then when I hug him, you slip away and move towards the freezer.”

“Won’t somebody notice me?”

“Not if you move fast enough,” Harry reassured, with the smooth tone of a seasoned professional. It didn’t help much. “I’ll be causing enough of a distraction regardless. You take one of the bags off the hooks before you go into the freezer – you know, the ones for holding the meat? – and then you take the food. By that stage, I’ll have left you enough time and I’ll say goodbye to the chef. But you need to leave fast, ok? Head towards my room, and don’t stop to talk to anybody on the way down, no matter who it is, understand?”  
Harry was treating this as if it was Grand Theft Auto, mainly for his own amusement. The aristocrat in Louis was emerging; his mouth had remained wide open throughout the duration of Harry’s instructions. Luckily, he had been listening well, and when Harry asked if he understood, he forced himself to nod.

Harry flashed a last dazzling smile and dropped a quick peck on the corner of Louis’ mouth before he pushed open the doors of the kitchen and let out a loud, “I’m back, fellas!”

*

The room erupted in cheers. Dinner preparation was forgotten as the chef and his assistants left their stations and crowded around the pair, half of them thumping Harry on the back and offering him tasters, the other half gaping at Louis. Louis forced a weak smile on his face, and was greeted with many wide grins. “Who’s this, Harry?” The booming voice of the chef called out over the mumblings of the kitchen staff. The dimple appeared in Harry’s cheek and he gave the chef a cheeky wink and nudged him in the arm. “This is your replacement, Bobby,” He said with a laugh. “He’s one of the rich kids, but he’s awful pretty.”

Louis wasn’t sure whether to be pleased, offended, or surprised at Harry’s overflowing charisma. It was slightly disconcerting how he could change so dramatically from insecure Harry in the bedroom to this wall of confidence, immune to any criticism.

(Maybe it was just that Louis’ opinion was the only one that mattered to him.)

The plan was for Louis to chat for a while with the staff, but after the initial gaping at him in their workplace, they basically left him alone in favour of Harry. He didn’t blame them. He stood there picking at the corner of his nail, as Harry threw his arms around the chef and kissed him sloppily on the cheek. A little bubble of something foreign crept up in Louis’ chest, and he almost forgot the plan as he scowled at the scene. Over the man’s shoulder, Harry whispered a ‘sorry’, and that was what it took to remind Louis what emotion had been stirred.

He was jealous.

This fact kept repeating itself in Louis’ mind as he walked towards the freezer. Harry had been correct; nobody was paying attention to him. He was jealous. Louis recited the plan under his breath as he picked up the bag from the hook, and just as he opened the door to the freezer, he stopped to take a look back. 

He had always known Harry was beautiful, spectacular even. Now he knew that even that was not enough to describe him. He was as radiant as the sun, bursting with hope and love for everybody that he met. And as blue met green, Louis realised that he owned the other boy’s heart now, and that filled him with enough zeal to enter the storage room and throw as much as he could into the bag.

The door of the freezer closed with a dull thud, but nobody seemed to hear. If thievery was this easy, Louis could see the appeal of doing it for a living. He tiptoed out of the kitchen, throwing a wink back to Harry as he left, and as soon as his foot was over the door, he began bolting down towards Harry’s room, his heart pounding in his throat.

*

Harry sauntered into his room around five minutes later. Louis was lying up on the bed, the bag of food hugged tightly around him. Harry let out a soft laugh at the sight, but Louis couldn’t be bothered to blush anymore. “That. Was. Incredible. Let’s do it again.” Louis whispered, because he had enjoyed it, but maybe not for the same reasons a fifteen year old Harry had. Harry shook his head and leaned over, pressing a loving kiss to Louis’ forehead. The food clattered to the floor as Harry rested his forehead against Louis’.

“I absolutely adore you, you know that?” Harry whispered, his eyes closed. 

And Louis had known; somewhere deep down inside his heart. He had always known, from the first day to the night of the 14th April. He knew Harry loved him, and he knew he loved Harry more than anything, and for the first time in his life, it didn’t scare him.

“I know.”

*

They spent the rest of their brief time together that night delivering food directly to the rooms of Harry’s former neighbours and colleagues and friends. Louis had never done charity work before (his mother was the type to believe she was above that sort of thing,) but he was quite astounded to find out that making other people feel appreciated added to the excitement of the evening even further. And perhaps, seeing Harry smile all night was a big part of it as well.

It was almost a quarter to eleven when Louis forced himself to kiss Harry goodbye and return to Eleanor, who he preferred to keep civil and well... not screaming. Harry gave him a dazzling smile despite the tears forming as he stood in the doorframe of Louis’ room, and draped a jacket around the other boy’s shivering frame. 

“I’ll miss you,” He whispered as he placed little kisses around Louis’ mouth. For the hundredth time on the ship, Louis spoke without thinking. “I hate this.” 

At his words, a small, sad smile appeared on Harry’s face. “I do too,” He breathed against Louis’ skin, and as Louis walked towards down the corridor towards Eleanor’s chamber, he couldn’t help but think how he felt a rise in his chest every time he saw that smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR READING. It really means so much to me to know that there are people out there reading and hopefully enjoying! If you are, please don't hesitate to leave kudos or a comment! Thank you for getting this to almost 100 views, it's made my night!  
> Love you all xx


	7. Lygophilia

**_12.25pm, 15th April 1912._ **

When Louis reached the gates that led down to the third class corridors, it was as if Hell had arrived on Earth.

The sea swirled powerfully around his ankles, some seeping in through the seams in his expensive leather shoes. The lights flickered dangerously, fighting for life. The water was more than a quarter filling the hallway, and Louis could feel his legs getting weaker at the sight of the murky depths.

“No.” He spoke out loud to himself. “I need to get Harry. I need to get Harry.”

Screams echoed off the wooden walls of the ship, bloodcurdling and sounding like something you would hear in a nightmare. “Need to get Harry. Need to get Harry.”

The changing in the light intensity was messing with Louis’ vision, and the water rolling around his ankles was making it extremely difficult to stay upright. His voice barely sounded over the waves crashing outside the ship, Harry’s name flowing off his tongue like a twisted chorus. Number 13.... Number 15... Louis gritted his teeth and grabbed onto the pipes on the wall, pulling himself along furiously. Number 17... 19.... 21...

It continued on for what seemed like a century, until eventually Louis kicked his way through a door labelled ‘29’. Harry was standing on the opposite side of the room beside the porthole, and for a moment he didn’t seem to register Louis’ presence. The water was up to Louis’ waist now, and he grabbed onto the doorframe to steady himself. It takes his disorientated thoughts a few moments to understand what Harry was doing. Out of the porthole, Louis could see the white of a lifeboat being lowered, only half full. A woman sits on the edge of the open window, her knuckles ghostly around the edge of the opening, the wind smashing around the room like an angry whip. Several others stood close behind her, and when the lifeboat had just passed, Harry screamed over the din, “Now!”

The woman pushed herself off the ship and dropped like a stone down into the lifeboat only slightly below. Yells of indignation rise upwards, but were soon quelled by the arrival of four other men and women onto the boat, all landing in a rather ungraceful heap. A young girl then made her way to the porthole, but as she toppled off, Louis managed to yell, “What the hell are you doing?” Harry turned his face around at the sound of Louis’ voice, a hesitant grin forming on his face. He opened his mouth to say something, but Louis cut him off before he could. “I’m pretty sure that’s illegal, Harry!”

The fondness disappeared off the younger boy’s face, replaced with cold features as the girl jumped down. “It’ll hardly matter if we’re all dead now, will it?”

Louis wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that, because Harry was right, and Louis was in the business of never admitting he was wrong even if he was. Three men remained after the young girl dropped down onto the lifeboat, and they all danced restlessly on their toes, the adrenalin pumping around their bodies. Harry let go of the open porthole and passed it to one of the other men, abandoning his post in favour of throwing his arms around Louis. Louis buried his face in Harry’s shoulder, and for just a moment he could block out the screams and churning water and focus on the tranquillity of Harry’s embrace.

And then that moment ended.

The open door behind them flew backwards. It hit the wall with a loud, screeching crack, and along with it came white water, pouring into the room. It was now just under half underwater, and Louis begged himself not to hear the cries of the man who had fell off the edge of the porthole into the sea of knives below. Once the initial blast was over, the water around their feet swirled with fierce intensity, even more so than before, forcing one of the two remaining men to stumble and fall against the wall. His head hit a pipe, and Louis felt himself straining against Harry’s arms as he watched the light fade from his eyes.

Harry turned Louis around roughly, grabbing him by his upper arms. “You need to be brave, Louis,” He commanded, and Louis couldn’t help but feel every weakness he possessed flood into his mind like poison. “Show me how brave you can be, ok? I need you to focus. We need to get you out of here.” The water level continued to grow, up to the point where the pressure was making it even more difficult to breathe. Harry pushed his way through the discarded furniture towards the door, but before he left through it, he turned back towards the man that was left.

“Good luck to you,” He called back, with a wave of his hand. The man gave him a weak, lopsided smile and nodded him on.

“May God be with the both of you,” He said, and the couple left the chamber.

*

**_12.55am, 15th April 1912._ **

“Shit!”

Harry’s hands were grasped onto the banisters, his knuckles a searing white as he pulled Louis upwards. Finally, the couple managed to topple out onto the dry surface of the second class corridor, where the rooms were deserted and belongings scattered the floor. “What’s wrong?” Harry asked as they dashed through the hallway, his shoulders moving determinately. Louis stopped walking, causing Harry to whisper a curse under his breath.

“My sister. I need to go get Beatrice.” Harry ceased walking as well at that, and they both stood still for a few moments, staring at each other searchingly.

“I need to go back for someone as well. But I need to go this way,” Harry said, his voice cracking slightly. Louis raised his chin defiantly. “Well I need to go this way.”

“Are we seriously arguing right now?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

“Well, what do you suggest, stiff?”

“I don’t remember you calling me that this afternoon. Or last night. What was it you did call me? Oh yes, you said I was a lit...”

“Shut up! Just shut up!” Harry linked his fingers behind his head and groaned exasperatedly. Louis had never wanted anything more than to grab his hand and run off this  
goddamn boat, but he had other loyalties as well, and he’d never forgive himself if the worst happened. He’d never forgive himself if he didn’t even try to save his baby sister.

“So... Should we... split up?” Louis asked delicately.

Harry nodded finally as the water began coming up the stairs once more. “I think that would be best. We’re just wasting time here, aren’t we?”

Louis bit back a sob and nodded, fighting to keep his eyes dry. “We are.”

“Alright. Where will we meet again?”

Louis moved closer to Harry and pulled him down by the collar of his shirt. “Let’s let fate decide.” Harry nodded, his breath hitching in his throat, and with that confirmation, their lips collided in an explosion of heat and energy.

“This is what I was afraid of happening. Losing you,” Harry breathed as he buried his face in Louis’ neck. The other boy knew immediately what he was referring to.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.” Louis whispered, barely audible over the crashes from the floor below. Harry gave him a soft smile, and their lips grazed each other’s once more, Harry’s hand on Louis’ neck, before they turned away, running in opposite directions.

And once again, the stars were compromised by the darkness.

*

**_1.00am, 15th April 1912._ **

The first class section of the ship bore a striking opposite to the hell Louis had left behind. People were still milling around, tasting the appetizers that remained on the buffet table, sipping on champagne and talking lowly about the disturbance. He shook his head as he walked determinately towards where his sister hopefully remained, not being able to comprehend how they could continue to be so ignorant to their own surroundings. How they couldn’t hear the screams of the people below, why they didn’t run for the lifeboats whilst they had the chance, even though the Captain himself had ordered for the boats to be lowered. It worked in his favour though, because it meant there might be a few remaining spaces for him and his family if he made it there quickly enough.

Louis walked past his mother’s room, his steps faltering slightly before continuing on. Then he stopped. He hesitantly started walking again. He stopped. He turned around, looking towards the door. Letting out a groan, he stomped back towards the room, pushing down on the golden door-handle. His mother’s bedroom opened up before him, Mrs Barkworth sitting at her vanity, brushing her hair with a fine comb. She turned around gracefully on her chair to greet her son, dressed only in her silken nightgown and delicate robe.

“Louis? What are you doing here?” She asked, her eyebrows raised in surprise. He had never before visited her, at least not without Eleanor’s prompting. She looked past him to see if Eleanor was in fact there, but when she saw he was alone further confusion etched upon her features. Louis deliberated for a moment on how best to explain the situation, but when he did speak, his previously thought out speech went straight out the window.

“The ship’s sinking. We need to leave now. There isn’t enough space on the lifeboats for even half of the people on here.”

He had expected to be met with the same response he had given Richie; mild amusement at his idiocy and disbelief at what he was saying. Instead, his mother shrugged her shoulders and said, in a calm sort of voice, “I know that already Louis. But I’m not leaving here. When the situation gets bad, the Captain will come for me. I can’t leave the safe. It has the remainder of your father’s inheritance in it. We’d be finished without it.”

Louis gaped at her open mouthed. “Are you serious?” He managed to ask breathlessly. She nodded her head, seemingly offended at this implication. “Of course I’m serious, Louis. When have I joked before?”

“How can you be so full of your own self importance that you don’t realise what’s going on?” Louis asked, his voice rising in frustration. Now that he was doing it himself, he didn’t understand how Richie could’ve brought himself to continue arguing without full-out screaming. Mrs Barkworth looked at him with contempt.

“How dare you speak to your own mother like that?” She exclaimed, scoffing at the audacity. Louis’ eyes widened once more. “Mother, I hate to say this, but if you don’t come with me right now, I’m never going to speak to you again.”

He had meant it literally, but of course, looking back now, he understood how his mother took it as a threat. Her lips pursed in a defiant straight line, and she turned back towards her mirror, brushing her hair with angry strokes. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Louis.”

“But...”

“Enough, Louis. I am your mother, and you shall do what I say.”

“I am over twenty years old! I am an adult now, and I don’t have to listen to you.”

“And you’re certainly acting like one now. Just leave, before you embarrass yourself further.”

Louis took one last look at his mother, at the blue eyes she had passed down to him and how they had been filled with tears as she had sung him to sleep after a fight with his father. How she tried to be a good mother, how she practiced cooking for hours on end one weekend because Louis had commented on how he wished she could make him his lunch like the chef did. And just like that, the memories disappeared into the back of his mind once more, and he could bring himself to move through the door.

“I love you. Sorry I haven’t said it lately.”

He pretended he hadn’t heard the muffled sob that filled the room before he closed the door.

*

**_1.15am, 15th April 1912._ **

Louis regretted to admit to himself as he walked towards Eleanor’s chamber that he didn’t feel any remorse about leaving his mother behind. He had meant it when he told her he loved her, but he had other people to save and if she refused to leave there was no point wasting time arguing with her. Besides, she was an old friend of the Captain so Louis had no doubts she would be on the next lifeboat out.

He didn’t bother knocking on the door, assuming Beatrice wouldn’t hear it regardless. After an attempt, Louis found out that the door was locked as he had expected. Nothing was going to go perfectly tonight. He leaned up against the wall, rubbing his palms over his closed eyes as he racked his brain for an answer. Then, as he added another roll to the trousers he was wearing, he remembered that they were much too long to be his. And, if he knew Harry well enough, there would be a master key in the pocket.

And lo and behold, Louis felt the cool metal at the bottom of the pocket and upon trying it in the door gained entry to Eleanor’s room. Beatrice was still lying on the bed, her eyes closed. He could tell she wasn’t completely asleep though as she was rolling around restlessly. Louis assumed she was on the borderline of slumber. He moved across the room, leaving the door open behind him just in case they needed to make a hasty exit. The mattress sunk down slightly as Louis sat down beside his sister. He gently nudged her in the shoulder, and she let out a soft groan. “Leave me alone, Eleanor. I want to sleep more.”

“It’s Louis.”

Beatrice’s eyes opened almost immediately, shocking Louis only slightly. “Louis?” She mumbled questioningly, rubbing her face. “What are you doing here?”

“Something’s happening, Beatrice. I need to bring you to Eleanor so she can keep you safe.”

By this stage Beatrice had managed to sit up in bed, her small frame resting heavily against Louis’ side. She let out a yawn. “Why can’t you do it?”

“I need to keep Harry safe.”

The words came out automatically, but Louis was beyond caring. Beatrice’s eyes became alert at the mention of Harry’s name.

“Is that the waiter who gave us food today?” She asked, her voice now bright and airy, tinged with a carefree attitude. His sister and Harry were very alike in the way that both of them had enough charisma for someone of twice their age.

“Yes. That’s him,” Louis sighed.

“He seemed to really like you.”

He couldn’t think of what to say, so he forced a small smile. “Is that so?”

Beatrice nodded, and continued talking as Louis led her into the adjoining closet, passing her over a pair of boots and slinging one of Eleanor’s fur coats over her shoulders. “You seemed to really like him too. Mother didn’t notice you smiling, but I did. I hadn’t seen you smile like that since... ever.”

Louis maintained his personal oath of silence, but Beatrice persisted. “And then you went off with him afterwards, because I heard Eleanor and that waiter talking about it. You’re spending a lot of time with him.”

He bit down on the inside of his cheek, ignoring the taste of blood that appeared moments later. He had been doing this nervous habit a lot recently and he had the feeling that it would continue for the foreseeable future. Louis took Beatrice’s hand in his, and led her out of the room, making sure she had their mother’s locket around her neck. She did, just as she always had.

“When did Mother give you that necklace anyways?” Louis asked as he linked Beatrice’s arm, after her furious protests that she was far too old to hold her brother’s hand as she walked through the corridors. “What would the other girls think?” She had questioned, her eyebrows almost comically in her hairline, and Louis found it increasingly difficult not to tell her exactly what was going on.

Beatrice looked up into his eyes, a small smile as always etched on her face. “I’ve always had it. She said it was made for my christening. Do you not have one?”

Louis held up his arm, which was decorated with an expensive golden wristwatch. “This was my gift. I haven’t been able to wear it for a while, but I fit now.”

His little sister nodded, pursing her lips. “It’s a very handsome watch,” She stated, and in that moment, Louis couldn’t see anything else in her besides a miniature version of their mother.

*

**_1.20am, 15th April 1912._ **

They were about halfway to the dining room where Louis assumed Eleanor would be when they were stopped by a pale-faced Richie. His shirt was almost sea through with water, and his hair was plastered onto his face. “Louis, I need some help,” He panted, one hand leaning against the wall. He looked even more exhausted than he had been before, and Louis didn’t have the time to argue with him.

“Fine. Come along,” He ordered, falling back into the familiar role of Richie’s superior. He began to walk on confidently, expecting Beatrice and the boy to follow him. When they didn’t, he turned around in annoyance and scrutinised with a raised eyebrow the blotches on his sister’s cheek and the way in which Richie’s hand hurriedly went to fix his hair, his toes pointed inwards as if urging the floor to swallow him whole. He remembered briefly that Richie was sixteen years old, and that his sister was almost at that age as well. “Now what?” Louis asked, his voice sharper than he wanted it to be.

He already knew the answer though. It was clear to see. He didn’t have time for fatal attraction right now, and that was what it would be.

“Nothing!” They both exclaimed, his suspicion increasing further as immediate denials came flying at him. Being a good liar had its perks. You could tell when others were doing the same. Beatrice began to walk faster in front of them, not turning to look back or acknowledge their presence, the tips of her ears flaming.

And as Richie began to follow the other Barkworth child, Louis pulled him close and whispered harshly, “Don’t you go near my sister. I used to be a marine, remember?”

It’s almost comical how fast Richie nods his head.

*

**_1.30am, 15th April 1912._ **

“And that’s how I ended up in the middle of London, naked except for my underwear, holding a chicken.”

Beatrice let out a tinkling laugh and hit Richie on the arm. “Now, Mr Cooper, I know that to be untrue,” She teased, her eyes sparkling. “I can’t tell if you actually believe it happened, or if you’re just trying to impress me.”

Louis watched with sickness rising up in his throat as Richie looked at his sister, his back straight and his stride confident, a smirk on his face as he asked, “And is it working?” Beatrice flashed him a flirtatious wink, and Louis briefly wondered how much he missed in the past few years. His little sister was particularly smooth for somebody who claimed to  
have never courted anybody.

“Perhaps it is,” She replied finally, and after that, they didn’t speak to each other again, although Louis had to trudge grumpily behind pretending he didn’t notice the stupid grins on their faces.

The next piece of conversation came as they came closer to the dining room. “Are you in love with Harry, Louis?” Beatrice asked when they were mere steps away from Eleanor, or as Louis saw it, salvation. Richie stood silently beside them, his fingers drumming on the corduroy of his trousers, a knowing smile on his face.

Louis looked towards the end of the corridor, where a wooden door led to the dining hall. He peered through the window, and he could see Eleanor’s soft curls flick around, and then their eyes met. She began to move towards him, a child sized lifejacket already in her arms.

Eleanor had her faults, but she knew Louis’ priorities.

“You promise not to tell a soul?” Louis asked Beatrice in a hushed whisper, and she nodded with almost childish enthusiasm. “Pinkie swear?” Beatrice linked her finger with her brother’s and flashed him a bright smile. Richie watched from the sidelines as Louis gave the painfully obvious answer.

“Pathetically so.”

Before his sister could respond, Eleanor burst through the door and grasped Beatrice’s arm. “Take care of her, Eleanor, Richie,” Louis said, and with a confirming nod from both of them who shared a quick glance and a last small wave for Beatrice, he turned towards the exit.

The moment he got out of first class, he broke into a run, a stupidly large grin covering his face.


	8. Adevism

**1.40am, 15th April 1912.**

Harry’s eyes remained wide open as he looked up at the ornate carvings on the walls of Louis’ chamber. The view outside of the window was shaking ever so slightly, and dull explosions could be heard, probably from the boilers exploding. Harry knew a little about ships from working in Harland and Wolff for a short time, so he knew how they went down. He knew they only had an hour, at most. He also knew he wouldn’t be getting off the Titanic alive.

He had travelled around the boat for one last time before retiring to Louis’ chamber, his own room now completely filled with water. He had watched the aristocrats walking aimlessly towards the boats whilst the poorer classes battled with each other to get as far as the edge of the deck. Harry overheard many conversations deliberating over why the first class were getting the better end of the stick so to say, but he knew from seeing it with his own eyes that they simply passed over a diamond or wad of money and the officers told them to go ahead.

They bought their own lives, and paid for other’s deaths.

Harry felt sick at the sight, and after checking to see how many lifeboats were left, (there were three,) he gave up.

Louis was probably on a boat by now, holding onto his sister, Eleanor fussing over the cold. Harry knew that Louis wouldn’t completely forget about him, but the days they spent together prior to this would fade from his memory over time, and eventually, he would end up marrying Eleanor and carrying on a life as usual having lots of children who would probably never hear Harry’s name.

Strangely, he had become alright with his own morality during the trip around the boat. Harry had been faced with death before, and this was no different. He had nothing to fight for anymore besides his own life, and that was a battle he wasn’t going to win. Therefore, he really had no option other than to retire to the room that still smelt like Louis and go  
down with dignity. And really expensive champagne.

There was no shame in giving up, just like there was no shame in the way in which some of the poorest people clung so desperately to the hope that more lifeboats would materialise before their eyes and take them from an untimely demise. Harry had always been fascinated with the ocean and its depths. Josephine loved the stars that she saw in the night sky and often dreamt about visiting them. Harry wondered if he would be with the stars after this night. He wondered whether Howard was on a boat.

He wondered if Louis was thinking about him as much as he was.

And Harry lay in that room, wondering about everything he had never had reason to wonder about before, constructing a list of why he should go to Heaven, and why he didn’t  
deserve to.

*

**1.43pm, 15th April 1912.**

Louis’ heart was pounding in his chest as he ran around the boat, screaming Harry’s name as loud as he could. Other sensations were lost to him in his frantic pursuit, such as the water circulating around his ankles as he searched the second class corridors, the shoves of panicked passengers, and the sound of violins playing sad laments. He could feel his muscles begin to ache, and his thoughts consisted of broken prayers and Harry’s name, pure want and a desperate need to survive.

And then, as he walked past the two remaining lifeboats, wincing as he heard the bodies of the desperate hitting the water, he realised where Harry would be and how this night would affect him.

Louis took off running once more, salty tears running down his cheeks and resting on his mouth. Once more, he counted the numbers of the rooms, his palms shaking when he reached his destination. The nervousness left with the opening of the door, and calmness ensued as his eyes rested on Harry, who was lying with his eyes closed and his hands resting on his stomach.

“I knew you’d be here,” Louis whispered, and Harry didn’t even open his eyes to see who it was. Instead, he opened his arms up in a beckoning manner, and Louis moved towards the bed, lacing their fingers together as he cuddled into Harry’s side.

“Why aren’t you in a lifeboat?” Harry asked, and instead of sounding happy about the fact that they were there together, it was more of an exasperated sigh. Louis understood why he was annoyed, so he skimmed over it for fear of an argument starting. “I needed to find you,” Louis whispered, drooping his head onto Harry’s chest, his lips kissing the lower part of Harry’s neck.

He could feel Harry’s heart rate increasing, so Louis pushed himself off the end of the bed so he was further up Harry’s neck. “Louis,” Harry breathed, his voice coming out like a cough. Louis smirked and continued on, until Harry placed two hands on his chest. “Stop, Louis,” Harry whispered, and his eyes opened to reveal the mixture of green and grey that Louis had seen in his dreams every night since the beginning.

Louis sighed and leaned back again, but Harry pushed himself up to sit straight. “You need to go,” Harry said, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hands.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Louis stated defiantly, mirroring Harry’s stance.

Harry’s hands dropped to his lap, and his eyebrows furrowed. “Yes, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“What age are you, five? I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions.”

“Obviously not, considering this one is about to kill you.”

“You don’t know that. It’s not over yet.”

“We have an hour or less, Louis. It’s over.”

“Harry...”

“You couldn’t even watch a film in that time. I’m done. You’re not.”

“Why are you being so negative?”

“It’s called being realistic. You should try it sometime.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

“Is it now, golden balls? You can go up there and give over that fancy-ass wristwatch and they’ll let you on a lifeboat before you have a chance to breathe.”

“Golden balls?”

“That’s the only thing you picked up from that?”

“Basically.”

“There’s really no point arguing with you, is there?”

“None at all.”

“I’m still not moving. I don’t want to waste my last moments running. I’ve spent too much time doing that already.”

“Then we’ll stay here. Together.”

“I still think you’re completely stupid.”

“Everybody does anyways. It’s nothing new.”

*

**1.48pm, 15th April 1912.**

Louis had never noticed how perfect the rhythm of his heart was until its last beats. He had never contemplated how the dust danced in the air, or the fact that he was never again going to enjoy a quiet lunch out in the field behind his house. He was never again going to smile as Eleanor came up to him with a picnic basket full of cakes and buns. He had known before he got on the Titanic that he wasn’t to return to England, but he had always considered the fact that he could if he missed it so desperately. He hadn’t been excited for America until Harry started talking about all the dreams he had for himself there and how their life together was to play out.

He hadn’t dreamt of the house he would have, with the white picket fence and the blue boards on the outside walls. He hadn’t even contemplated what he would do as work when he got there, whether he would buy his own car or a carriage perhaps, whether he would sign up for another term in the Armed Forces.

They lay there together, just as they did after they made love. And they kissed lazily and everything just melted away into the night, into the stillness of the sinking and the brief interlude of screaming and crashing and screeching metal.

“There are so many things I wanted to say and do,” Harry murmured as his lips traced the outline of Louis’ jaw. Louis felt his breath hitch in his chest. “Most of them involved being with you.”

After this, silence blankets the room once more, and they stop touching each other.

An inevitable tension fills the room, as if perceptibly waiting for yet another event to unfold. And when the tightness in Louis’ chest gets too much, and the carpet begins to get damp, he thumps his fist into the mattress.

“Get up. Just get up.” He snaps. Harry sits up immediately, looking at him with wide, confused eyes. Louis doesn’t miss a beat as he throws him a coat and says, “We’re getting off this goddamn boat if it kills me. Come on.”

And Harry threw a lopsided grin his way, and their hands entwine once again.

“Just promise me one thing,” Harry shouted as the wind rushed past, their feet pounding against the wooden floors. “And what is that?” Louis asked, during a brief pause in which he deliberated which way it was towards deck.

They stopped moving just before the staircase, and Harry took both of Louis’ hands in his own. “Don’t let me go.”

Louis gulped. “I won’t.”

That was the only time he knew he wasn’t lying.

*

**2.02am.**

Debris flowed in the water around their ankles, hitting painfully against the sensitive skin on Louis’ feet. Harry’s hand gripped his tightly. The corridors were an endless maze of dim lights and rushing people. The pair raced through the boat, grasping onto the walls to prevent themselves getting swept away. They reached a gate that led up to the deck.

An officer stood on the other side, his mouth twisted into an apologetic smile.

“You can’t get up here,” He yelled, and Louis felt anger well up inside of him.

“You’re either on my side or in my fucking way. Guess which one you are right now.”

Louis heard a groan from behind him. “Let’s see you do better,” He snapped to Harry, who shrugged his shoulders and moved towards the gate.

“Watch your head there,” Harry pointed above the officer’s head, and before Louis knew what was happening, Harry had taken the keys from the back of the man’s pocket, opened the gate despite his shaking hands and punched the guy in the face.

“How dare you deprive us of a chance, you bastard,” He hissed dangerously. Louis saw the man’s hand now soaked in the blood from his nose move towards his back pocket. “Harry...” He began, but he didn’t get any further. Harry’s elbow jutted into the man’s stomach, knocking the wind from him. The officer crumpled to the ground in a dejected heap, and Harry gave him a last kick for good measure. He turned around, grabbed Louis’ hand, and yanked him up the stairs, their breathing quickly becoming laboured.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Louis asked as they briskly made their way through the crowds.

“Jail,” Harry responded simply.

Louis couldn’t stop himself from finding Harry very attractive at that moment.

They must’ve made half a lap around the deck when the announcement came through; sending the crowd even more frantic than it had been before.

“Attention all, this is your Captain speaking. The last lifeboat has now been loaded. Every man for himself.”

Harry turned around to Louis, his face dripping with water and his knuckles covered in blood. They crashed together, and it was fireworks and stormy days and screaming at the  
top of their lungs. It was the water thrashing against the boat and the way the stern was raising slowly like a monster from beneath the earth. It was the ache of their muscles and dancing Ragtime and happy Mondays and the fields in Belfast that bloomed in the summer.

It was imperfect and messy and far, far too short, and Harry whispered, “We’ll just be forever in disguise,” and Louis nodded, because he couldn’t have said it better himself.

And they kissed once more as the boat began to tip with greater urgency.

Neither one knew it would be their last.

*

**2.10am.**

Louis needed to think, and quickly. The floor gave way beneath them, and it was all Harry could do to reach up and attach himself to the barrier that surrounded the deck, barely holding Louis up with one hand. Louis’ feet attempted desperately to attach themselves to something but the wood was wet and it was an almost vertical slope, and he could feel the pull of the ocean underneath him.

He could hear mothers crying and the splashing of bodies into the water, he could hear gunshots going off in the distance, and he could hear Harry’s voice murmuring above him. He could barely make out what he was saying, but he didn’t need to.

“We need to jump!” Louis shouted up, and as soon as their eyes met, Harry’s grip on the barrier lessened further, and then they were falling, falling, falling.

It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds that Louis dropped like a stone, but it was to him the longest time of his life. His heart was in his throat, his arms wrapping around  
his chest, clutching to the lifejacket. He could see Harry tumbling beside him, their hands now ripped apart, and he could see the determination in the other boy’s features.  
Maybe they were going to make it. Or maybe it wouldn’t be too bad to die.

His body suddenly sprung to life with the biting cold, the wind being knocked out of his lungs by the impact. Another person who had dropped alongside them was now floating on the water, their limbs folded into strange angles, their eyes dark, and final, and....

Dead.

“You need to swim, Louis!” Harry screamed, breaking Louis’ focus on the man, and that was the first time he really didn’t want to hear Harry’s voice. It was a broken sound, like the final note in an orchestral piece that hadn’t been practiced nearly enough. Yet somehow, Louis forced himself to push his way through the water and the bodies around him, managed to yank his arm away from those who tried to use him as a buoy, managed to get to Harry who was far enough away from the boat not to be sucked under. Water had entered his mouth and he was beginning to feel dizzy, but not enough so that he would give up just yet. His vision blackened out at the edges, and he barely managed to reach Harry before the other boy grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him further out from the boat.

Louis wrapped his arms tightly around Harry, relying solely on the lifejacket around his torso to keep him from a watery grave. Harry reciprocated his affection for only a brief moment, before he turned around and let out a loud wolf whistle. Louis looked up from where he had buried his face in Harry’s chest (he was still wearing the waistcoat,) and saw silhouetted against the stars the outline of a lifeboat. They moved slowly towards the couple, but quickly got swamped by frantic passengers. And with that, the last chance they had retreated more frantically than it had come.

Harry turned Louis around to look him in the eye, and Louis felt his heart beat just that little bit faster. “You’re going to have to swim to them,” He stated, as if it wasn’t already painfully obvious. Louis nodded, but it was with such weakness that Harry looked distrustful.

“Will you be able to make it?” Harry asked, and by this stage, his teeth were chattering slightly. Louis nodded.

“Probably. As long as you’re with me.”

“I need to breathe for a moment Louis. You go, and bring the lifeboat to me.”

“What happened to ‘don’t let me go’?”

“Just shut up and go.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“No, really.”

“That’s why I said it.”

Louis gave him a watery smile, and, reluctantly, took his hand from Harry’s warm one. “I’ll see you soon,” He whispered, and Harry smiled too, but it wavered slightly.

Louis felt like he should’ve stayed, like he should’ve said so much more. But his body was shaking uncontrollably with the cold, and, as selfishly as his mother would, he made for the lifeboat leaving Harry a few metres behind.

As soon as Louis sat down in the boat, it all happened at once.

The Titanic’s lights flickered out one by one, and Louis wondered how he had never before noticed how bright they had been.

The ship rose further and with a last deafening crunch split in half, crashing into the water with tremendous force, sucking several people down with it. And then, as the other half began to fall, Louis watched with wide eyes and arms grabbing onto him to keep him back as the third funnel tipped at a deathly angle, collapsing into the water below.

He heard Harry scream Howard’s name.

And Louis watched as the last light went out.

*

**2.30am, 15th April 1912.**

“We can’t just leave them there, dying from the cold.”

“If we go back, we’ll be in the water with them. Is that what you want?”

“How much will it take to get you to go back?”

“Excuse me, sir?”

“How much will it cost? A hundred?”

“I don’t take bribes sir.”

“Of course you don’t. But we need to go back.”

Louis couldn’t bring himself to speak a word, even though if Harry was here, he knew he’d be fighting in the dying’s corner. He pretended not to see when the money was passed behind the back of an officer. He couldn’t stop himself being sick over the edge of the boat along with another woman, who was crying pitifully throughout the entire thing,  
twirling the wedding ring around her finger.

She had been on her honeymoon. Her husband of two weeks was dead.

They’d been moving through the bodies for a good ten minutes, the officers turning them over, poking them with the oars to see if they were breathing. The other two lifeboats that had returned had retrieved a person each by the time a soft groan came from beside the boat.

“We’ve got a survivor!” The officer yelled triumphantly as if he had won, and the three third class men jumped up from their seats and helped pull the boy out of the water, their movements strained and stiff with the cold. Louis himself had been told to move around as much as he could without collapsing the boat in order to keep himself warm, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. Until he saw who they were pulling up.

“Richie,” He breathed, and he hated to admit that he was disappointed. It had been stupid to assume they would find Harry, that the boy Louis had came to known would’ve somehow survived the impact of the funnel. Yet, Louis had become a man of hope over the past few days, and he couldn’t help but cling to the last shred with all of his might.  
Richie was sat down by one of the men, who promptly wrapped him up in his own blanket. The other two men remained on their feet, joining the search effort for survivors. Louis wasn’t sure how they could manage to do it. Perhaps they hadn’t lost anybody close to them, so the weight of grief didn’t rest as heavily upon them.

It was twenty minutes before Richie got up the strength to speak. He shuffled closer to Louis and spoke in a hushed whisper, as if he was speaking at a funeral. And, Louis supposed, he was.

“Where’s Harry, Louis?” He asked with his eyes still wide and childlike. He was only sixteen; he was too young to have gone through this. Louis couldn’t bring himself to answer, a lump forming in his throat. “I knew him, you know,” Richie said. Louis moved slightly at his words. “He was the one who recommended me to you. Without him, I would’ve never gotten a job. He was the singer at your birthday party a few years ago.”

Louis still didn’t say anything, even though the information brought tears to his eyes. That’s where the waistcoat was from. He himself had given it to Richie for Christmas, and Harry died wearing it. He wasn’t quite sure why that was so important to him in the grand scheme of things, but grief did weird things to people.

Richie took Louis’ silence to mean what he couldn’t bring himself to say. “Oh my God,” He said, and his voice was louder than it had been before.

“You really need to stop saying that,” Louis snapped, but his tone didn’t seem to affect Richie, who merely opened his eyes wider.

“Are you very religious, sir?” He asked.

“How could anybody believe after tonight, Richie?”

Richie wasn’t sure what to say.

“Tell me how I’m meant to come back from this. Tell me what I’m meant to do.” Louis didn’t even try this time to stop the tears from falling down his face. “Tell me how Richie,  
please, just tell me how to forget.”

And Richie pulled Louis closer, wrapping both of the blankets around the two of them, and Louis buried his head in Richie’s shoulder, his body wracking with sobs.

“Harry would’ve wanted you to be happy, you know,” Richie whispered, and that only made Louis cry more.

“I know.”

*

**3.30am, 15th April 1912.**

About an hour after the ship went down, fireworks erupted in the sky. The Carpathia had arrived, sixty minutes too late. The screaming and moaning had quelled, facial expressions frozen in time, their eyes wide open in fear. There were two officers on the lifeboat Louis was on, and whilst the first one passed a few oars to the passengers, the second looked back towards where the Titanic had been only a brief time before.

“God Himself could not sink this ship,” He whispered, and his voice broke through the stillness of the night. The clouds that had covered the moon departed shortly after that, and  
the light reflected softly on the calm ocean’s surface.

It was almost as if nothing had happened.


	9. Alexithymia

**8.00am, 15th April 1912.**

Almost as soon as Louis arrived back on land, an overwhelming desire to do something overcame him. Even walking seemed like a challenge, talking even more so. Especially when he found out that Howard was dead. Mrs Brown was dead. Mr Brown was dead. Many of the people he had heard about in conversations but never really cared to know. Dead. And his mother, she too had been taken down by the suction of the boat’s sinking. Louis had known deep down when he said goodbye that he’d never see her again, and that he had chosen Harry over his own mother. He was hit with the sudden feeling that he didn’t regret that decision at all, and how horrible a person he must have been to think like that.

He would’ve only been walking for ten minutes when a woman holding a young baby in a sling approached him. As soon as she spotted Louis she basically ran towards him, throwing her arms around him and clasping her hands around his torso. Louis immediately stiffened up, psychical contact becoming just like it was before Harry; unwelcome and uninspiring. He didn’t want anybody to hug him besides the one he loved.

The woman pulled away after a few moments and seemed to notice his discomfort. A warm smile appeared on her features as she asked, “You’re Harry’s friend, correct?”  
How desperately he wanted to say “Much more than friends. So, so much more than friends”. Instead, he simply nodded. He liked the present tense anyways. He is Harry’s. Harry is just away for a while. Harry is coming back.

“I just wanted to let you know,” The woman began talking just before the silence became awkward, “He saved me and my baby. I’m forever in his debt.” At this, Louis vaguely remembered Harry saying how he never liked to owe anybody anything. Did he like people to be indebted to him? Louis had never got the chance to ask, simply because he thought there would be a million more.

“Where is he?” The woman asked, the smile still etched on her face. “I want to thank him properly.”

Louis wanted nothing more than his mouth to form the words, ‘over there’, and Harry to appear and set his hands on Louis’ hips and whisper a ‘hi’ to the woman. Oops. Hi. The first words they said to each other. The words that would remain permanently in his memory.

Yet again, Louis didn’t need to say anything for the woman to understand what had happened. “I’m very sorry to hear that. He was a good man.” Her hand rested on Louis’ arm, obviously trying to comfort him. However, after his outburst of tears and anger on the boat, Louis didn’t need any more comforting. She wore a forlorn expression, and when Louis didn’t respond to her kindness once more, she nodded understandingly and walked away. All Louis could think about was how she wasn’t sorry Harry was gone. She was sorry to hear it.

He knew it was simply a gesture that she didn’t mean in that way, but regardless, it didn’t seem right to him.

*

It was half an hour of searching aimlessly before Louis spotted Eleanor over the crowd, Beatrice by her side. Beatrice’s face was red, and Eleanor’s was stained with tears. Louis briefly remembered that Eleanor’s parents were gone too. He wondered how many were lost on that night, but in another way, he didn’t even want to know. Eleanor made her way through the crowd almost hesitantly, becoming more confident when Louis copied her movements.

They stood less than thirty centimetres apart, and Louis searched her eyes for something of what she was before. He knew he was changed, that there was no going back. He prayed it would be different for her. His eyes dropped to the ground, but Eleanor’s stayed focused on his face.

“Will you marry me?” Louis asked her, and although he knew that Eleanor was aware he wasn’t in love with her, she would still say yes. Her parents were the ones who decided Louis would be a good match for her, and despite their many faults during her childhood, Louis could tell she respected their decisions immensely.

Louis was the only piece of her family she had left.

“Did you love him?” She asked as a form of answer, her voice wavering slightly. “Tell me the truth.”

Louis hadn’t even considered doing anything else.

“More than anything. It hurt on the lifeboat, Eleanor, but now...” He inhaled sharply, and her stiff shoulders relaxed slightly at the sight. Her eyebrows drooped in worry. “It doesn’t anymore. I can’t feel anything. Literally. Nothing. I can’t even bring myself to cry. All he did for me, all he was, and I can’t even cry for him.”

And Eleanor did what she thought was right and natural at that moment. She placed a careful hand on Louis’ shoulder, and tipped his head up to meet her eyes. “What do you want to do?” She asked, her voice dull and careful.

“I want to go to Belfast,” Louis said almost immediately, and he is shocked by his own words. Eleanor’s eyes widened slightly, but she quickly reverted back to her comforting expression.

“And why do you want to do that?” She asked.

“I want to make things better. Make sure this never happens again. Get a career in politics, get a lifeboat law, or something. I want to do something.”

Eleanor gave him a small, sad smile. “Harry would be proud,” She whispered. “His boy changing the world.” Louis nodded curtly, now desperate to get away from Eleanor, despite the fact that she had said all of the right things.

Perhaps that was the problem.

Harry was spectacular, like fireworks in July. After meeting him, Louis finally understood why hurricanes were named after people. They were one and the same, after all. Harry came into his life, destroying all that was familiar, replacing it with only broken memories and shattered promises. And yet, he had been so happy. The days on the Titanic seemed as far away as Louis’ childhood, and the kisses Harry had placed on his lips were already becoming faded.

He knew he should’ve stayed with Eleanor, who had gone back to comforting a sobbing Beatrice. However, he also knew he was far too consumed in his own grief to be of much help. “I need to go find somebody,” He said to Eleanor as he began slowly walking away. She nodded and waved him on, and this time, she wasn’t hurt by how fast he went.

*

“Richie!” The brown haired boy turned around almost immediately at the sound of his name, and smiled at the sight of Louis. “Louis!” He called back, making his way through the  
crowds of the grieving. “I thought you would’ve been on the ship by now.”

“What?” Louis wasn’t sure if his loss was making him lose his mind, or if he was, as Harry had said, completely stupid, but he couldn’t for the life of him comprehend what Richie had just said.

“The Carpathia?” Richie said, and when met with another blank expression, he expanded patiently. “It’s taking the survivors to New York. They’re boarding now.”

Louis nodded, shaking his head at the same time, as if that should’ve been obvious. And then, he finds himself opening the fastening on his wristwatch and putting the cool metal into Richie’s hands. Now it was the other boy’s time to look confused.

“What is this for, sir?” He asked, and despite the unsure expression on his face, he couldn’t stop himself from running his thumb over the diamonds and gold encrusted initials.

“I want you to sell it when you get to New York.”

Richie looked away from the watch and back to Louis. “Are you not coming with me, sir?”

“I’m going back to Belfast.”

There was a lull in conversation before Richie asked another, almost hesitant, question.

“Did Harry... you know... Did he go back for Howard?”

And with Richie’s words, Louis suddenly acknowledged the significance of Harry’s wavering smile. He had never been planning to get on the lifeboat, at least not without Howard. Yet, he still put Louis in front of his brother in law. Louis nodded, and silence settled over the friends. It almost felt as comfortable as Harry’s arms. Richie, pausing only briefly, threw himself into Louis’ arms, lifting him up slightly as he hugged him.

“Thank you for this sir, thank you so much! You’re changing my life, sir, once again!”

And this time, Louis didn’t get tired of hearing the praise. As soon as Richie let go of him, he walked determinately towards the ticket desk, slamming the last of his notes on the desk.

“First ticket back to Belfast, please.”

*

**_Gracey, Harold, 19._ **

**_Killed on impact during sinking of the Titanic, April 1912. Brother to Josephine Black (nee Gracey). Born to the late Kenneth and Pauline Gracey (nee Smithson). Body not found._ **  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much to everybody who has read Untouchable so far! This isn't the end though, and I hoep you've enjoyed it so far! I'm sorry I've been gone for so long, I plan to post the next chapter very soon. Thank you for the kudos and views! (Some comments please?)


	10. Louis' Letter

_14th April 1935._

_It’s been 23 years since April 1912, and I still have nightmares about it. The way we had to wait in the lifeboats until the screaming quelled, how selfish people could be in the face of death, the simple fact that the amount of money you had in your pocket determined whether you lived or died._

_To be honest, I kind of lost faith in everything that night; from Humanity, to God himself. I couldn’t quite understand why this had happened, and I never will. There were newspaper reports afterwards talking about how many died, but they were merely statistics. A number doesn’t encompass a person, and a person is more than a percentage. You were more than a percentage. Nobody will ever truly understand the Titanic except for those who were on it. It’s kind of like a secret you never wanted to know because it changed your entire perception of everything you believed to be good._

_Two years after you left me, I understood what my father was talking about. A war started, Harry, and it was bigger than anybody had ever imagined. I moved back to London after only two years in Irish politics and joined the armed forces once more. I nearly started crying every goddamn time I put on that uniform, thinking how you would’ve loved it, how you would’ve sent me letters and kissed me on the end of my nose as I left you at the airport. I saw my fair share of death during that war, Harry. I saw gunshots, and fire, and bombs like nothing before. I quickly moved up the ranks and became a general. There were many times I lay in the hospital bed, dreaming that I would just let go and maybe then I’d be with you again. But I didn’t die. Instead, I was forced to go on, to continue replying politely to Eleanor’s unemotional letters and my sister’s sorrowful ones. I was forced to give orders, forced to watch my men die underneath me, forced to receive my fair share of criticism. And then, the war was over, as if it had never even begun except for the fact that the world lost eight and a half million soldiers in four years._

_They’re just statistics now too._

_I married Eleanor when I arrived back in Belfast in 1919. My heart just couldn’t cope with the fact that you were gone, and I couldn’t let myself get that attached to anybody again, not after what happened. Besides, her parents were both dead, and so were mine. We were all the other had left._

_I hope you’ll forgive me, wherever you are._

_Another marriage occurred as well. In 1920, Beatrice Barkworth became the wife of Richard Sylvester Cooper. I had always known there was something between them, ever since that first godforsaken night. The two were only a year apart in age, and despite Eleanor’s disapproval at Beatrice marrying beneath her class, when we made a trip to America in 1925 she immediately sought out Richie whom she had been corresponding with for many years previous. I hadn’t wanted to see Richie again; I didn’t want to see anybody who had known you just as well as I came to. But I missed him, and he was in love with my sister, and I couldn’t help but see the way he looked at her._

_It was the same way you used to look at me._

_For this reason, I managed to smile at him on his wedding day as he stood stiff collared at the altar; no longer the skinny boy from before, rather a handsome man with well built shoulders and eyes that reflected that April. He had done well for himself after all, going from a servant in the kitchens to a respected businessman in New York._

_I have to admit; it was almost comical how terrified he looked when I arrived at the wedding in my uniform and my medals, a scar on my forehead and another across my lip. After I reminded him I was a sergeant with full authority to kill if he hurt anybody I cared about, he quickly assured me that the city was destined for great things, and he would rather die before he had to experience them without Beatrice by his side._

_Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?_

_Eleanor got me back into going to church. I didn’t believe in it at first and spent most of my time daydreaming about what we would be doing in America if you were still here. Sometimes my memories were so vivid I could almost smell you and feel your hand in mine. It took me a while to realise memories never solve anything. They simply make the wound deeper._

_The minister said if you were a good person and put other people before yourself, you would get into Heaven. But yet, they also say that if two men fall in love, they’ll be condemned to Hell. I’m not quite sure what to think about that, but I choose to believe that the good deeds you did while you were here would mean more to the higher power than who your heart belonged to. Instead of running for a lifeboat, you helped other people. Many of them came to thank me. (I couldn’t help but think about how I wished it was you here instead of them.) If the opposite is true, and you didn’t make it to Paradise, I would happily die a million times for one more day with you._   
_We had a child, Eleanor and I. Four years ago. He was named Fredrick Harold Barkworth; Frederick after Eleanor’s father and Harold after you. He gets called Harry more though, because it was the first of his names he picked up. It hurts to hear your name every single bloody day, and it hurts me to know that every time I look at my son I will be wishing for a life in which he wouldn’t exist. A life with you._

_You would’ve wanted me to be happy, I know that. I know that more than the air I breathe and the house in which I’ve lived all this time. Yet, I can’t help but feel like I’m betraying you by going on. I thought the war would kill me, and I sort of wished it had. I just wanted to feel you again. I had nothing to lose after I lost you. I was a coward though, and I couldn’t bring myself to jump in front of a bullet, or stay still in the face of a bomb. And now I don’t even have a choice, because I have another Harry to care for now._   
_I wish I had whilst I had the chance._

_I wish I was a good enough person to say that I stayed on this Earth because of some loyalty to Eleanor, who is, after all, my wife. But I’m simply not a good person Harry. I’m nothing like you were, no matter how hard I try. And I am trying._

_I often lie in bed and wish I spent more time just looking at you, drinking in your features so I would have more to remember than butterflies in my stomach and how that first time felt. I had never believed people when they said being with someone made you feel like one person. Until I was with you. Before that, I had my suspicions that it was fate. Now I know it was._

_But was it fate you died that night?_

_Eleanor chooses to believe it was nothing more than an accident and often chalks it down to human stupidity rather than God forsaking us. She spent a long time trying to suppress the hatred she felt for every damn person on that ship. I am sorry to say I didn’t help much either, because as Mother used to say, “Misery enjoys company”._

_I guess I am miserable._

_I did do something good. As I mentioned previously, the whole event caused me to go into politics, and I got a law passed that required proper emergency training on ships and enough lifeboats to comfortably fit everybody. I only wish somebody else had done that before me, even if I’ll be remembered even after I am gone (according to Eleanor, which isn’t exactly a comfort)._

_I found your sister in Belfast too. Eleanor became friends with her, and we invited her into the house as a nanny for my son. Josephine gave birth one day after the Titanic sunk, and although I wasn’t there on that day, I arrived two weeks later. Looking down into your niece’s face made me realise that even though you are gone, there are beautiful things left in the world. Especially if they belong to you._

_Marie is absolutely breathtaking. I’ve grown up with her as my honorary daughter, and Frederick believes her to be his sister, just from a different mother. Josephine regretted not talking to you for so long. She cried so much. And I cried with her. I still do, on the anniversary. It’s our agreed day to remember. All the rest we forget._

_We forget her husband, and the father to her baby. We forget you, and your love for everything that challenged authority, and the way you called me yours._

_But I couldn’t forget when Josephine came to me one day with a six month old Marie in her arms and I looked down into your eyes._

_She has your eyes._

_She has your eyes._

_She has **your** eyes._

_Why, out of all things you could’ve given her, you gave her your eyes?_

_Josephine is so like you also. She yearns education and deep conversations and constantly has a smirk on her face that makes you think she’s outsmarting you._

_I love her, and I guess I love Eleanor, and I love Marie, and I love Frederick._

_But no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop loving you._

_And believe me._

_I’ve tried._

_I’ve searched for so long for a definition of a soulmate. A soulmate is your one and only. The one you’re destined to be with. The love of your life. The one you can’t live without._

_You were, and still are, my soulmate. You’re always in my heart, Harry Gracey._

_Sincerely, Louis.xx_

_P.S. You were right. Jazz did come back._

**

_**Barkworth, Louis, 53.** _

_**Killed by bullet to the chest, June 1944, whilst serving for the British Army. Husband of 32 years to Eleanor Barkworth (nee Robertson). Born to the late Artur and Elizabeth Barkworth (nee Robinson) in 1891 (Framlingham, Suffolk), later relocated to London. Survived by his son, Frederick Harold Barkworth, fondly known as Harry, and his three grandchildren, Gertrude, Edith, and Lawrence. Survived the sinking of the Titanic, served in the Great War, remembered and loved by many. To be buried at sea, as outlined in will. Memorial service June 22nd.** _

_**I hope you’re enjoying Paradise. Love, Eleanor.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a couple more chapters left! Thank you for the views, perhaps can I have some comments as well? Thanks!  
> \- L


	11. Accismus

_**2010.** _

The X Factor was made up of missed opportunities and mixed feelings.

For example, it was completely normal that Louis got shivers every time Harry said his name, and it wasn’t weird that Harry got frustrated with the softness of Louis’ singing voice because it made him imagine how he would sound when he moaned.

Moving in together was either the best decision either of them had ever made or a life sentence. Being in each other’s company twenty four hours a day would put any friendship to the test, but with Harry and Louis it just provided the evidence they needed to understand that their relationship was far from social norms or conventions.

The first day of their new life together was what would’ve been considered a disaster by anyone else, but to them it was merely the foundations of something great. They had driven for two hours to Central London, spent half an hour trying to find what had been described as a ‘private car parking facility’(it was a square of sand behind the apartment block,) and then dedicated a further hour’s time to bumbling around the corridors, Louis squinting at the information clasped in his sweaty hands. Harry had somehow been talked around to carrying all of the suitcases, and after two very long staircases and several cramped elevator rides he began to question just how whipped he really was.

Eventually, Louis let out a squeal and ran towards a flat marked 25D, dramatically brandishing a key from his back pocket. Harry let out a sigh of relief and dropped the many bags from his arms at the door to allow the freedom to place his hands on Louis’ waist. Harry watched with sparkling eyes as Louis gave a little jump up and down, the anticipation almost unbearable in his chest.

And then the key broke in the door.

It was a further two hours before they could get a locksmith out to fix the door, but by this point the pair were determined to get into their new home that night. They had no other option anyways. Their mothers weren’t expecting them home for a couple of weeks when they would enjoy two days at Louis’ house for Christmas and then go to the Styles residence for Boxing Day. The car was out of petrol and they had nothing in their wallets except for a couple of lint pieces and five pence coins.

Harry shook the hand of the locksmith and thanked him sincerely for his help as Louis picked up the boxes. Just as he was walking through the door a corner of one of the boxes labelled ‘Memories’ whacked against the doorframe, taking a chunk out of it. Louis looked at the damage with wide eyes and exhaustion. And, much to Harry’s surprise, annoyance and disbelief spiralled into Louis bursting into laughter, smiling more than he had for months. Harry couldn’t help but laugh with him. They crumpled to the floor in a mess of limbs and sore ribs, their grinning faces mere millimetres away from each other. Only when he recovered could Louis take a moment to take in the beauty of Harry up close.

It wasn’t that he was in love with his best friend or anything. It was just that Harry was like the twinkling of stars on the darkest nights, the wind that rushed under swallows’ wings and the songs that drifted through the air during music festivals, where the pumping of fists in the air and shouts create an atmosphere Louis is yet to experience anywhere else (besides from Harry’s arms, of course).

Harry was all soft lines and calm tranquillity. Louis often marvelled at their amazing and perfect differences, how he was split second decisions and living for the moment whilst Harry spoke so slowly as if to think out every single word before he let it leave his plump lips. Louis was the life of the party, the one that would convince Harry to get up onto the floor even though he professed himself to be “not much of a dancer”. Harry was the light of the room, the one every uncomfortable person and self righteous asshole seemed to be drawn to like a moth to a flame. He looked at you like nothing else mattered in the world besides the sound of your voice, and that’s why Louis was cautious in believing that he was anyone of importance to Harry at all.

It was Zayn, in the end, who took Louis to the side after a particularly long concert in which Harry’s whisper had been a bit too much like a kiss behind the ear. “You realise he’s completely captivated by you, right?” The brown eyed boy had whispered, the words sounding so foreign on his tongue that Louis couldn’t bring himself to believe them. He wasn’t going to fall so deeply into the boy with the green eyes and the brown curls and the adorably stupid giggle. He opened his mouth to protest, but, as usual, Zayn didn’t let him finish and for once Louis was glad of the rude interruption.

“It’s like you’re the only person he sees.”

That was all the confirmation he needed to allow himself to touch Harry at every given moment, to press his fingers into the upper part of the other boy’s arm when they weren’t able to sit beside each other at the sofa, to indulge in more tickle fights than was necessary. There was a moment in the X Factor that Louis’ breath had hitched in his chest to the point that he wondered if he had stopped breathing, when Harry’s face was right there and his lips were even closer and the camera was recording everything that was happening and Liam was digging his foot into Louis’ back to remind him of that fact (as if he could forget the telling off he got from the X Factor producers). Those weeks in which he was sent off to allow them both to “cool down”, as the publicists so tastefully put it, were both torture and paradise. It was nice to breathe freely again, to not feel the constant butterflies assault his stomach at the mere sight of that little piece of heaven.

It wasn’t long before Louis realised Harry was nothing short of his everything (and that did not mean he was in love with him). Soulmates didn’t necessitate romance (although Louis regretted to admit he had fantasised about what Harry could do with those long fingers of his more nights than he could count on two hands).

With these memories, Louis shifted back to the present day, where Harry had swallowed and slowly untangled himself from him, just like he had so many times before. This time, Louis couldn’t stop himself from saying what he had been so desperately keeping in.

“Why do you always do that?”

Harry turned around, his eyes opened slightly wider in what looked like surprise. He had picked up a box on his way to the kitchen, but his strong grip wavered slightly as he met Louis’ gaze. “Do what?” He asked stupidly, because he knew perfectly well what the other boy was referring to.

“You always look at me with that look of yours and then you don’t do anything about it.”

God, Louis wasn’t making any sense, and thinking back, he could’ve said any other number of things that would’ve been a lot smoother than mismatching words said in a broken voice.

Harry’s fingers tapped against the edge of the cardboard box, his face highlighted in the light from the moon coming in through the uncovered window. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable exactly. More apprehensive.

“What would you want me to do?” Harry murmured, so quietly that Louis could barely hear it over the rumbles of car sirens outside. Louis instinctively shrugged his shoulders, and Harry’s sagged with something that resembled disappointment. But why would he be?

“Ok,” He breathed. “I guess we’ll just head to bed then.”

“Harry?” Louis called out, his voice having returned to him. Harry turned back around, his eyebrows narrowed in annoyance. “What now?”

“We don’t have a bed.”

“Shit.”

*

**_2011._ **

Hands were the single most beautiful part of the human body as far as Louis was concerned. The innocence of a mother holding her child’s hand on the walk to their first day of school, the way a woman’s fingers lock themselves in her army husband’s hair at the airport, how the lines on a palm depict years worth of work or writing or sewing or loving. However, as with all other beautiful things, the world had found a way to destroy their utter perfection, using their tools as weapons to cause famine and war and devastation.  
Harry was different.

Louis watched him out of the corner of his eye as he bustled around the kitchen chopping up strawberries and flattening out dough with slender fingers wrapped around the rolling pin. He watched him during signings, not etching a single signature of his own, instead transfixed on the movement of Harry’s pen and the softness of his skin. If Harry noticed, he didn’t say anything. Of course, that was typical. He made a habit of storing up information to use when it would be most useful.

It may have become a bit of an obsession.

Louis couldn’t stop himself from smiling when Harry brought home piece after piece of furniture, a wide grin on his pale face, his eyes sparkling with excitement. His tongue was stained with the beautiful aroma of freshly made pancakes in the morning, and he had become increasingly dependent on waking up to Harry’s sleepy eyes with his arms wrapped around his waist.

They had kissed as well. In fact, they had kissed many times, because seemingly every time Louis got some vodka into him he ended up slurring something he hadn’t wanted to say and slamming his lips against Harry’s.

The first time it happened he admitted it wasn’t simply a drunken stupor that caused him to plant one on Harry. He used his apparent intoxication as an excuse, but he wasn’t exactly sure Harry bought it either. He wasn’t sure he cared.

It had been a long, hard year of sleepless nights and whispering dumb things under the cover of night.

It had been a long year of captured gazes and overanalysing, of drinking until he forgot everything but Harry’s name; a long year of nothing but flashing lights and screams piercing through his brain and his name being chanted by the thousands. Everything was moving too fast and yet painfully slowly all at once, and the only relief he got from the never ending pursuit of impending fame was at night when he and Harry lay together in bed at night; Louis soaking in every little detail of Harry’s face as if scared he might never get to see it again and Harry biting at his lip so hard to keep himself from speaking that it left a stain of blood on his crisp, white pillow. Sometimes there wasn’t a double bed in the hotel so they squished up on a single, their heads banging painfully against each other in the eagerness to bask in the comfort of each other’s arms.

Belfast had been the location in which Louis unleashed the beginning of the end. It was in the Merchant Hotel which Harry was particularly in love with due to the jazz musicians playing in the lobby and the pictures on the walls. They were all painted in black and white, depicting men in dapper suits and women in flapper dresses. The ceilings were high and the beds were luxurious, and by this stage Harry and Louis were the only pair on the tour who weren’t sick of looking at each other. They rented a family room with two double beds, even though both of them knew they’d fall asleep in each other’s arms.

Louis had downed several pints of beer as Harry talked to a little old man about how he knew it was going to rain when the clouds covered the mountains. Louis watched over the man’s shoulder as Harry’s eyes sparkled with interest. Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore, and with each mile he felt himself fall he took another shot.

Harry was a good man, and so even though he was enjoying a conversation with the receptionist about the excitement of the new Titanic Museum being built, he still took Louis up to his room, laughing when the other boy slobbered on the shoulder of his expensive suit jacket. Louis didn’t remember much of what happened that night, but he remembered Harry taking off his trousers to change him into his pyjamas. (Louis being Louis of course had said something too inappropriate to bear repeating, even to himself.) And then, as he sat on the edge of the bed feeling his head turn to cotton wool and watching Harry bustle around the room changing himself, he spoke with tenderness unknown to drunken men. “You’re beautiful, Harry.”

Harry had only stopped moving for a millisecond, so briefly that Louis sometimes wondered if he had noticed it at all. “You’re not too bad yourself, Lou,” He had responded, and although he couldn’t see the other boy’s face Louis knew he was smirking.

“Say it then.” He wouldn’t usually have been this clingy. He blamed vodka, which reminded him of Harry; he knew he’d end up regretting it in the morning but not at the same time because it was so _amazing_ and it smelt like excitement and spur of the moment.

Harry sat down beside him on the bed at this, chuckling lightly when Louis pulled him down onto the bed with him so they were cuddling as they always did. “You’re beautiful, Louis.”

“Do you mean it?”

“Of course I do.”

Louis giggled, his eyes drooping shut. “You don’t mean that.” Harry let out a laugh.

“Of course I do!” He repeated and his voice rose slightly. “Why would you think I didn’t?”

Louis shrugged against the silken bed sheets. “Dunno,” He slurred, the alcohol beginning to pull him into sleep. “Maybe because you always tell me you luff me but then you never do nuthin bout it.”

And whether it was from tiredness or the fourth shot Louis was unsure, but the next couple of minutes became blurred as the days went by. He wasn’t sure who started it but he knew who ended it, and he knew that the moment Harry’s lips touched his, the screams and the gunshots and the waves knocking against the side of a boat that had haunted his dreams since he had met the other boy were silenced.

They remained dormant until the next Belfast trip.


	12. Anabiosis

**_2013._ **

As their feet pounded against the vinyl airport floors, Louis had to reflect for a moment how they got to this position, bolting through the terminals, crashing into more people than he could count, their faces red and their carefully constructed hairstyles destroyed by the wind.

It all began with a meeting in another stuffy boardroom in which they were informed of a meeting with the director of their newest music video down in Dublin. Harry hadn’t even listened that far; he heard Ireland and automatically grasped onto the sleeve of Louis’ shirt, tugging on it with excitement. “We have to go see Titanic!” He had declared, and Louis shot a look at the other boys who were getting ready to leave before protesting, “We’re going down south, Harry. We’ll be nowhere near Belfast.”

“Come on Louis,” He droned, reminding Louis of a pouty four year old. Louis opened his mouth to protest but, as usual, he was interrupted. “We could go to Belfast first a day earlier and then go down to Dublin. It’ll be like that road trip you talked about!”

“That was before the tour Harry. We don’t have time now,” Louis responded, but he could feel his resolve weakening already as he looked into Harry’s eyes. Being in an enclosed space with Harry for two hours could never be a bad thing, and the last time they were in a car for that long together the trip consisted of multiple driving breaks in cheap gas stations where making out in the backseat and disgusting gravy chips took centre stage. It had all gone downhill when they became official after one too many drunken confessions, in which Harry lost his resolve and they ended up sleeping together in a cheap B&B bathroom.

“We’re on a break now though,” Harry groaned, and Louis rolled his eyes. He looked around momentarily checking to see if anybody was looking in through the inconveniently placed glass windows and moved closer to Harry, resting his hands on the other boy’s chest.

“I don’t know Harry,” He teased, opening up the top buttons of Harry’s polo shirt. “I think I need a bit more convincing...”

Usually Harry would’ve taken any opportunity to latch onto Louis’ neck and start kissing the life out of him, but this time was different. He stood in front of Louis, towering above him, his arms crossed.

“We go to Belfast, or no Harry for you.”

With the memory of that sentence, Louis realised why he had been so eager to get the next ticket to Belfast, and why they were rushing through the airport towards a plane they were most probably never going to catch.

He was whipped as hell.

*

He hated to admit to Harry as they walked around the last remaining room of the museum that it actually hadn’t been a _massive_ waste of his precious time. Rather, the artefacts on display were quite interesting; especially with their tour guide Martha providing random facts and Harry speaking far too intimately about some displays to have learnt it from light internet research. When Louis asked him how he knew the things he did, Harry got this faraway look in his eye, shrugged his shoulders and said, “Dunno. Just a feeling.”

That must’ve been repeated five hundred times if not more, and only ceased when they sat down to a shared chip in the small café. The day had gone relatively smoothly much to Louis’ surprise; he had been expecting it to be cut short by screaming teenage girls and security guards rushing into the building. Instead, the mood that surrounded the entire museum was sombre and calm. Louis knew it was in respect for the dead, but he couldn’t help but appreciate the quiet. It had been so long since he hadn’t heard anything and for the first time in a long time, life seemed to go at a normal pace.

After they had finished lunch, Martha took them into what she described as the “most beautiful and tragic room of them all”. Louis had raised an eyebrow at Harry at that point, and couldn’t seem to swallow his shock at Harry wanting to be there. The other boy had firmly refused to watch the Titanic movie on the basis that it was ‘too depressing’, but they had watched _12 Years A Slave_ and _The Boy In Striped Pyjamas_ in succession the other night, so Louis wasn’t quite sure where he had founded that conclusion. Instead of a look of dread overcoming the green eyed boy, his eyes sparkled with what looked like anticipation, and he followed Martha like a child eager to learn. Louis trailed slightly behind, feeling a little wave of something pass through him as he walked past the lifeboat in the middle of the room. The paint was chipped and it looked smaller than he had expected. He couldn’t imagine sixty five people fitting onto it.

The room Martha led them into was dimly lit, the only light sources pointing upwards towards large wooden plaques. Upon further inspection Louis discovered there were names etched in gold onto the boards, shining in the beams. “These are all the people who died that night,” Martha explained, gesturing around the room. Louis’ eyes widened as he followed her hand. The plaques covered almost all of the walls, the free one consisting of a large television screen that flashed images of the ship and those that perished on it. Louis felt a lump form in his throat and he wanted nothing more than to leave. Harry must’ve noticed because their fingers intertwined, but even this gesture couldn’t remove the tension that rested on Louis’ shoulders.

“How many died?” Harry asked, his hand squeezing Louis’ hand tighter with each passing moment. There was something reflected in his eyes that Louis couldn’t place, and it made his stomach twist uncomfortably. “More than a thousand,” Martha replied, and with that she stepped back into the shadows, leaving the couple looking at the names as if transfixed, Harry even more so than Louis.

“You look as if you’re looking for something,” Louis commented, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder, standing on his tiptoes to do so. Harry hummed in agreement but didn’t further the matter so Louis stayed there in silence, reading the names along with his partner. There were none that particularly stood out for him besides someone called Elizabeth Barkworth. It created a flip in his stomach, but not much else.

“Do we know a Howard Brown?” Harry asked suddenly, his voice sounding hoarse. Louis turned the other boy around and looked in his eyes. “You’re crying,” Louis murmured, his thumb automatically moving up to wipe the tear away. “I don’t think so, no.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, and the tears stopped falling down his face as abruptly as they had begun. “I didn’t think so either.”

The conversation lapsed once more, and Louis saw out of the corner of his eye that Martha had taken out her phone and was beginning to play Candy Crush. He didn’t blame her. Harry must’ve stood in the exact same place for half an hour.

“What’re you lo...” Louis began, but as he followed Harry’s gaze he didn’t need to finish. It was obvious which name he was looking at.

“Do you have any information about Harold Gracey?” Louis asked as he turned around to Martha once more. Her face went red and she almost dropped her phone, but she nodded quickly. She vanished into the adjoining room and Louis went back to looking at the side of Harry’s face, trying desperately to understand his perplexing expression. Harry had never been the most outspoken of people, so Louis had been conditioned to learn the little indicators of his boyfriend’s every move.

And then it hit Louis like a mallet around the head.

Harry had been acting like Louis during the trip. He only behaved in this manner when he was in Belfast. Louis had been more in tune with Harry’s nature lately also, more caring and cautious of his surroundings. Before he had a chance to peruse this further Martha reappeared, her ginger hair falling down into her face. He whispered a thank you and took the file from her.

“Do you want to see this?” He asked Harry hesitantly, and, to his surprise, Harry nodded, wrapping his arms around Louis’ torso and peering at the file over his shoulder. This seemed to be their preferred way of standing, simply because it allowed them both to marvel in the fact that their bodies fit so perfectly together. They didn’t say much as they read through the file, the silence only partly filled by Harry’s infrequent comments.

“Huh. That funnel killed him then?”

“Seems that way.”

Silence.

“All it lists here is his offences.”

“I’m guessing he didn’t do anything more significant.”

“That’s not true. He seems like a good person.”

“Why do you care? You never knew him.”

“I... Yeah. I didn’t.”

Silence.

“Only one person came to his funeral, Lou.”

“Maybe that’s all he had left.”

“His sister was the only one, but he had somebody else, I’m sure of it.”

At that moment, all Louis wanted to do was leave.

“How can you be sure?”

“Dunno. Just a...”

“If you say it’s just a feeling one more time I’m going to kill you.”

“And then not come to my funeral?”

That came out of nowhere. Louis moved away from Harry at the same time as the other boy did, and they squinted at each other through the dull lighting.

“Funerals aren’t the only way for people to show they care, Harry.”

“I know. I just thought the person who claimed to love him most would’ve been there.”

“You have no idea what was going on! I spent my entire life wishing I could go back to that night, you know that.”

“How would I know that? I died Louis. And from what I can see, you barely cared.”

“For a ghost you weren’t very perceptive, obviously.”

“You’re telling me that whilst you were sleeping with that pretty little fiancée of yours you were thinking of me?”

“She was my wife Harry! I only knew you four days, and, if you didn’t realise, you made your choice.” Harry’s eyes widened, but Louis was too far in to shut up now. “I thought you were different, no matter how cliché that sounds. Obviously I was wrong. You were just another lying, thieving, petty douche bag who didn’t care about anybody but yourself! I hate you!”

Harry swallowed thickly at that, stepping backwards. The plaque on the wall behind him tottered dangerously where he had hit it, and it only took a few moments for Louis to register what he had said. A weight settled in his stomach, and it felt like he was drowning in the hurt welling in Harry’s eyes.

Only Martha noticed the change of tense.

*

The road trip was the complete opposite to what Louis had been planning for. There was no sloppy kisses in the back seat under the cover of tinted windows, no singing Beyoncé  
at the tops of their voices along the motorway, no cute crease in the middle of Harry’s eyebrows as he stared at an upside down map. Rather it was silence that was uncomfortable for the first time since Louis had known Harry; stolen glances in between rustled movements. They didn’t utter a word as they swapped seats, despite the fact that Louis basically fell into Harry on the way around the car. It was awkward, and Louis couldn’t say he honestly knew what they were annoyed about. He wasn’t sure Harry knew either, but to say that would probably make the situation worse, so he stayed quiet. He thought it would be the safer option. And he was correct in some respects, because Harry didn’t say anything bitchy for the entire car ride. Somehow, Louis found himself wishing he would. Not talking felt worse than arguing. Everything had always been so massive with the two of them, mostly because, as Zayn had so wisely put forward, passion burnt as hot as anger. This muted atmosphere was strange to say the least, and it disconcerted him even more than Harold Gracey had, whoever he was (or had been, so he should say).

Harry didn’t gesture for Louis to sit on his knee during the meeting, instead choosing the seat on the opposite side of the table. Louis could’ve skimmed over the previous couple of hours and been the mature adult he was supposed to be, but instead he resorted to the same petty games Harry was playing and sat beside Zayn, squished up beside him on the small sofa. This was the only thing that got a response from Harry, with him muttering under his breath so it was barely audible over the shuffling of paper, “Forever and always, Lou.” He had said it before, but never with angry eyes and jilted movements.

They had a mutual friend in Colby, a petite blonde with bright blue eyes and fervour for life that could brighten even the dullest of days. She often tagged along on their many excursions around the globe, simply because when they were yelling all kinds of things at each other she was the only one who could act as a mediator. She had this quality about her that made everybody listen to what she was saying, and even though Louis found her bluntness extremely irritating, she did shed light on every situation, no matter how big or small it seemed in that moment. She was such a hopeless romantic and so believing of the boy’s relationship that Louis sometimes wondered if she was as invested as they were.

That’s why when they returned to their hotel that night, Louis immediately sought her out, hoping to explain the situation to her before Harry and his puppy dog eyes could get there first. He found here exactly where he thought she would’ve been – in the bar, being chatted up by Niall. There had always been something between them but for some reason Niall had never asked her out on a proper date, and as Colby so colourfully put it, “God Himself will smite me before I ask him out”. She greeted Louis with wide open arms and a careful smile, obviously trying to read his expression. Louis just shook his head and collapsed into her embrace, taking in the scent of strawberries that emanated from her hair.

“What have you done now?” She asked, but it was said with such fondness Louis couldn’t find it in him to be annoyed or defensive. “I don’t even know,” Louis whispered against her shoulder, and he was speaking the honest truth. The entire second half of the Titanic tour, from lunchtime to the end, was a blur in his mind, and he knew he must’ve said something offensive to Harry but he just couldn’t remember what. Colby raised her hand to shoo Niall away, and he quickly chugged back the rest of his beer, placed a sloppy kiss on her cheek and thumped Louis’ back before leaving.

“Do you want to go up to my room? It’s getting a bit noisy here,” Colby stated, her voice rising slightly on the last bit. Behind her were two men arguing very loudly over the football score, but Louis doubted they could’ve understood her jab anyways. They were both obviously intoxicated. He nodded and with that they moved towards the elevators.  
When they were inside and surrounded by panelling and mirrors on all sides, Louis could see himself for what he had become in the past day. His beard had grown even more over the past couple of hours and bags had formed under his eyes from the coffee he had taken to keep him awake whilst driving. Colby exhaled slowly and deeply as the doors opened and Louis could tell she was aching to say something.

“Whatever you want to tell me, tell me. I know you’re dying to,” He said, rolling his eyes in her direction. She smirked and shook her head. “It can wait.”

So they waited until they were in Colby’s hotel room (which she had so characteristically made her own, with pictures around the mirror and her laptop sitting open on the desk,) and the door had shut firmly behind them before Colby whacked Louis hard on the arm. He yelped in pain. For such a small girl, she had a mean right hook.

“What the hell was that for?” He asked, his voice higher with confusion. “For being an idiot,” Colby responded simply, her blonde up-do sort of falling down into her face. “The entire goddamn universe conspired to help you two find each other and you’re going to let some silly misunderstanding tear you apart?” Louis groaned.

“I really don’t want to talk about this tonight, Col,” He protested, grasping onto her arm and pulling on it desperately. She looked out at him under her long side fringe, her eyes displaying steely determination. She opened her mouth to speak, to convince him to tell her what had occurred on that day and how he felt about it, but Louis cut her off.

“It’s twelve o’clock at night, I’ve had six cups of coffee which are very quickly wearing off, I’ve driven two hundred miles and I’ve broken up with my fiancé. If you don’t leave me alone I swear to God I’m throwing you out that window.”

Colby let out a haughty laugh, which wasn’t the response Louis had been expecting, or even particularly wanted. “Fine, Tomlinson,” She conceded, elbowing him in the stomach  
playfully. “But tomorrow, we talk. Ok?”

He didn’t answer, but a triumphant grin appeared on his face. Louis let out a squeal and jumped back on the double bed, promptly pulling Colby down with him and wrapping the covers around them tightly. She was still in a black party dress and he in his jeans and t-shirt, but neither of them wanted to get changed.

Louis noticed how although Colby didn’t smell of Harry, she felt a bit like family, and maybe for tonight that would be enough.

*

The next morning was awkward at best, and Louis could taste the regret at the back of his throat as he slid into his seat beside Colby, trying desperately not to look at the dark circles under Harry’s eyes. The day was bright and cheerful despite the tension that hung over the table, the birds chirping and the dining room lit up with liberating sunshine and a careful summer breeze. Niall continued to chat away during the meal to try and regain a bit of normality, helped in his mission by Colby who only succeeded in spilling milk all over him with excitable hand gestures and then insisting on helping him clean up (you can only imagine the jokes Niall made whilst she wiped a napkin over his trousers). Zayn and Liam kept their conversation to neutral subjects such as the weather, and how it was good for this part of Ireland, and how they should visit Niall’s family before heading back to England. Louis couldn’t stomach food, so he spent his time stirring more and more sugar into his tea, feeling some of the weight lift off of his shoulders as the granules dissolved.

He found out that Harry hadn’t stayed in what was supposed to be their shared bedroom last night, preferring instead to camp out on the sofa of Niall’s suite. He wasn’t sure why it mattered considering he had done the same, but the thought of Harry sleeping on a hard couch just to avoid him was hurtful to say the least. Finally, Colby returned to the table with a cleaned up Niall, ate the remaining piece of toast on her plate and walked with Louis back to her hotel room.

“Are you still not talking to him?” She asked as she peered at her reflection in the ceiling height mirror. Louis shook his head, looking at his own figure at the same time. “You really need to change, you know,” Colby stated, her eyebrows furrowed in the mirror. “You’ve been wearing the same clothes for two days now.”

“I showered in between though,” Louis protested, sounding more like a five year old than he had meant to. Colby let out a light laugh, ignoring the flop of hair that drooped over her eye. “That doesn’t matter. You stink.” Louis smirked at that. “Fine,” He conceded eventually, zipping open his luggage. “But don’t go thinking you can talk me around to anything,” he said, even though they both knew she usually did.

When he opened up the suitcase, he was greeted with the undeniable scent of Harry. A tsunami wave of something foreign seeped over Louis, and he suddenly regretted not talking to his fiancé (or rather, ex-fiancé, but he didn’t like to use that term to describe Harry. It was too final). “I think I’ve taken his bag,” Louis began, and Colby cut him off as she took her earrings out and replaced them with another pair. “Don’t you two usually share bags anyways?” She asked casually, as if it was so obvious to her that the two of them were intertwined in even the simplest of things. It was true, so Louis couldn’t even say anything about it. “Yeah,” He answered, sifting through the clothes to look for something to wear.

He ended up picking out a pair of his own baggy sweatpants, a clean pair of socks and Vans and a more than fashionably large sweater. He yanked off the old t shirt, throwing it into the corner of the room, followed by his trousers. Colby had seen enough of them on tour to not mind. Heck, she’d seen Niall naked more times than one (which usually ended in her saying something more perverted than you would think from such a seemingly innocent girl, and Niall stumbling out of the room red faced, wide eyed, and, as he admitted to Louis once sheepishly, slightly turned on). This time, she stopped Louis from starting to put on his clothes, and he raised an eyebrow at her small hand on his stomach.  
She applied a bit more pressure to the skin and Louis winced. Suddenly, he remembered two nights before, when Harry’s bareness was against his and he could taste the sweat on the other boy’s neck, the careful mixture of salt and love combined on his tanned skin. “I always know way too much about your sex life,” Colby commented, her voice sounding like laughter. She took her cold hand away from the marks, and for only a moment, Louis blessed the pretty bruises that discoloured his torso.

(With that, he also realised that he was so wildly attracted to Harry even then that he could literally feel it driving him insane (also that there wasn’t one thing in the world that he couldn’t stand more than the thought he would never leave another bruise on Harry’s hipbones again).)

“Louis?” Colby broke through his thoughts, making him crash back down to earth. He turned to look at her. Her expression was solemn, and her previous playful stance had been abandoned in favour of seriousness. “”You love him,” She stated, and Louis didn’t move. “You’ll always love him.” He remained silent. Colby let out a slight sigh, not quite frustrated but bordering on it, her shoulders slumped. He hadn’t even noticed her getting changed into a flowery day dress.

“Where are you going?” He asked her, and she didn’t answer.

“You know I’m right, Louis,” was the only response received, and with those last words of wisdom, she left the boy alone in the middle of the too expensive hotel room, drowning  
in his own affections.

*

It was another night of Louis trying to remember what he had done, and the second in which the nightmares had returned. This time however, all he could remember was the panic setting on Harry’s handsome face, and screams bouncing off walls. He faintly recalled a yell of, “need” and “jump”, but what would that have to do with anything? He woke up in cold sweat, his heart racing and his hair plastered to his forehead. Colby was breathing heavily beside him in her sleep, and he didn’t have the heart to wake her despite how much he craved another human to calm the voices in his head that taunted him with sentences that just didn’t make sense.

And then, it hit him like a ton of bricks. He wasn’t sure if it was the sleep deprivation, or the alcohol he had downed that day, or the deliriousness those dreams created, but he knew what he needed. It was like his entire life’s meaning was sprawled out in front of him, displayed in neon lights and flashing so tantalisingly out of reach. Before he knew quite what had happened, he was rapping on the door of Room 450, his eyes drooping in sleep.

Harry opened the door, dressed in a pair of boxers and a shirt that fitted too tightly to be his. “Louis?” He whispered, but the other boy put a finger to his plump lips before he could say anything else.

“Harry,” Louis breathed, and he looked up into those green eyes, feeling his resolve weakening. To beg would mean admitting defeat, something Louis never particularly liked to do. But this was Harry, and it was cold in the corridor, and he was only half dressed and he missed pancakes in the morning and tasting vodka off Harry’s lips rather than his own.  
“Sometimes it’s best to just let things go, Lou,” Harry mumbled, and Louis could tell that Harry didn’t believe that as much as he wanted to. “Sometimes,” He agreed, and Harry’s shoulders slumped. “But not this time. Not now.” Their eyes met once more, and God, did Louis want to see nothing but their colour every day for the rest of his life. “I love you, Harry, I love you more than anything, and when I’m not with you everything just gets messed up and it all goes wrong, and I can’t sleep without you beside me and I miss you. I miss you, I miss you, I miss you.”

Harry didn’t utter a word himself, listening in quiet reverence, hanging off Louis’ voice.

“I miss watching TV and making out on the sofa. I miss your bad driving, I miss your obsession with tattoos, and I miss you leaving scratches all over my back. I miss the way you make me smile every day. I miss the way I fall asleep every night in love with you. I miss seeing you in the morning, and I miss sex in the shower and I hate the fact that we’re not together, that we’re not HarryandLouis, how we’ve always been, how it’s meant to be.” Louis inhaled sharply, and he prided himself on not crying. “But most of all, I miss that ring on your finger and I miss knowing that I’m the one who put it there. God, I love you, and I never want to let you go ever again.”

Silence, apart from the low grumbles from the adjoining rooms. They mustn’t appreciate the fact that this was the way to win back the love of your life; with spur of the moment confessions and crying and loud voices, because nothing was simple anymore yet everything was significantly less complex at the same time. And Harry just looked at Louis, with eyes that still sparkled of love and commitment and overwhelming awe, the kind of look that made Louis feel like something greater than a human.

“Come on, Harry,” Louis begged, his voice low and uneven. “Say something.”

“I’m glad you came,” Harry mumbled in his raspy tone, and Louis felt himself relax. “I wasn’t sure what we were going to do about the flat. You see, I’ve developed quite an attachment to it.” Louis let out a laugh and it was more hysterical than anything, but it made Harry smile, so it was worth more than all of the wealth they had in the bank. Their lips crashed together, Louis’ hands finding their way into Harry’s hair as Harry’s arms wrapped tightly and strongly around his waist. The door slammed closed behind them, and they ended up making out against the wall, on the sofa, on the bed.

Harry grinned against Louis’ mouth between messy kisses, all desperate and beautiful. “I wrote a song about you, you know,” He said, his cheeks a gorgeous pink. Louis’ lips moved to his neck. “Is that so?” Louis asked. He could feel the butterflies fluttering in his stomach and smirked in satisfaction as Harry moaned above him. “Uh huh,” Harry answered, trying to even out his breathing. Out of the corner of his eye, Louis spotted a photo frame on the bedside table. The glass on the front was jagged, and their smiling faces in the captured moment were torn. He tried not to let it bother him. He knew how Harry got when he was angry, which wasn’t often.

“Are you going to sing it to me then?” Louis asked, trying to push the image of that picture out of his mind. Harry shook his head as he dragged his lips over the exposed skin of Louis’ chest. “You’ll hear it tomorrow,” He murmured, tugging at the bottom of Louis’ shirt. “Tonight, I have other plans besides singing.”

And for once, Louis was happy not to hear Harry’s voice.


	13. Affiance

_**2019.** _

Louis took a deep breath as he looked out over the sea, his elbows resting on the barrier. The wind whipped against his body, messing up his slicked back hair and making his eyes water. He decided the best option to do considering he couldn’t breathe was to close his eyes; grab onto the barrier with white knuckles and take in the scent of the ocean, to listen to the chirping of gulls and the sounds of the waves lapping the edges of the ship.

It was a beautiful day, barely a cloud in the sky, and the odd one that did come along was white and puffy, like an angel emphasising the glow of the sun. The forecast had predicted rain, but thankfully it seemed that they would be finished before the heavens opened up to greet them. He didn’t open his eyes as he went to open the top button of the shirt, the confinement feeling uncomfortable around his neck. He wasn’t used to suits, especially ones with ties and polished shoes and fluted jackets.

Colby had been buzzing around all day, going on a sort of energy that had become unknown to Louis in the past week, her hair pulled back in a tight bun, her eyes tired and slightly bloodshot. Nobody was paying attention to him as they moved around the deck, careful greetings and polite kisses being exchanged under the pretences of acquaintanceship. That was okay. He liked being alone with his thoughts from time to time. It was either that or talking in whispers to Harry, and, well, he couldn’t do that today.  
He must’ve stood there for a quarter of an hour before he saw smoke mix with the salty breeze, and he turned to the precise features of Zayn, his dark eyes drooped and a tissue hanging out of his jacket pocket. Louis looked at the cigarette, watched as it rested upon Zayn’s lips and silently, without speaking, was offered one out of the almost finished packet. Louis usually wouldn’t have taken it, because Harry hated smoking. He wouldn’t care today.

Zayn was a good person to think with, simply because he didn’t speak. He stayed there in comfortable silence, never expecting anything of anybody, much unlike Colby, who, if she could see him now, would probably spend the next couple of hours convincing Louis to pour out his life story. Finally, she would come to the conclusion that some barely remembered experience from his childhood was the reason for his sadness in that moment, and get such a triumphant grin on her face that Louis couldn’t refuse her.

Yes, it was best that it was Zayn.

They must’ve finished three cigarettes before Zayn clapped him on the back, gave him a nod, and whispered, “See you later mate,” as if they were just two guys who met out the back of a pub. Louis gave a mumbled response, because that was all he could muster, and turned his attention back to the way the horizon dipped so dramatically, suddenly understanding how the Vikings thought the world was flat.

“How are you, Louis?”

Now, he felt himself wishing it was Colby. But the voice was too soft, too maternal to be his friend, too slow and thought out. Too much like Harry’s.

“Fine,” He responded, because he didn’t want to be rude, not to Harry’s mother. She didn’t prompt him verbally, but Louis continued to feel her eyes on him for a few moments before letting out a loud sigh. “It’s just...” He stopped once more, his lips pressing together.

“That almost sounded like a sentence.”

“You almost sounded like your son.”

Anne let out a tinkling laugh at that, her eyes crinkling in a way that was all too familiar. She laughed for too long for such a simple joke (if that’s what you could call it, Louis was just speaking the truth,) but he excused her on the grounds that it was a weird day.

A brief interlude allowed Louis to gather himself again. “It’s just that it feels like a funeral,” He admitted, feeling a weight sink down onto his stomach with the words. He didn’t like talking about feelings, especially to people who didn’t have green eyes that sparkled in the moonlight. Anne hummed in understanding beside him.

“Well, it is,” She spoke gently, her hair falling down slightly from its clip, framing her face. “It’s the end of everything you’ve known. I understand.”  
Louis wished he could believe her.

“But just because it isn’t like how it was doesn’t mean it can’t be spectacular,” Anne continued, and Louis forced his gaze away from the ocean and onto her eyes. “Love knows no bounds, Louis.”

“I know.” He let out an almost bitter laugh. “Believe me, I know.”

Anne’s face twisted into a sad smile at that. It didn’t look natural on her grinning features. “Do you believe in soulmates, Louis?” She asked, and Louis shook his head disbelievingly.

She couldn’t have picked a more ironic question.

“More than anything,” He responded.

“I think you’re his.”

“I... I don’t know. He’s always been mine. He always will be. I just...”

“Louis. What is it?”

“I’ve never felt good enough for him, that’s all.”

Her small frame became even smaller with that, and she looked at him with the type of expression Louis had hoped he never would have aimed at him. Sympathy.  
“Why did you think that?”

How could she think he could answer that simply?

“I dunno,” Louis shrugged his shoulders. “Just don’t.” But he did.

He knew the doubts that crept into his mind every time Harry kissed him in the venue bathrooms, pressing him up against the wall, whispering things he would never repeat to  
anyone. He knew that every time Harry smiled at someone and they grinned back, every life he changed, every child’s dream he made come true, every heart he stole, Louis was stepping back and wondering what made Harry choose him.

It wasn’t a onetime choice to be with each other. It was a constant decision. At any moment, Harry could’ve turned around to him with that confused look on his face that he saw that last time, he could’ve whispered the same words Louis had screamed at him (along the lines of “I can’t do this anymore” or something equally cliché,) and that would be it. It would’ve been over. Because Harry wouldn’t have wanted him anymore, and that was a completely different thing to him not wanting Harry, because he knew that would never happen, no matter how much he screamed it at the other boy and how often he told himself. Louis knew he would be in love with Harry every second of every day for the rest of his life; he knew that curly haired boy would continue to do good things and make him fall further and further until all he saw was the green of his eyes.

Anne pursed her lips at his answer, and rested her hand on his back. “Let me tell you something, Louis,” She said, and instead of sounding like the typical motherly talk he was used to from his own family, Louis heard an unprecedented determination in her voice. “If Harry ever heard you saying that, you know what he would do?”

Probably something his mother wouldn’t be proud of.

“He’d tell you that you were being stupid.”

He probably would.

“He’d tell you that you were insane.”

Louis knew that.

“He’d tell you that you are his everything and that when I see that sparkle in his eyes that it’s because of you. He always loved you, Louis, more than I’ve ever seen anybody love  
anyone. But if you don’t want to do this today, you don’t have to.” She paused to lick over her chapped lips. “Are you ready?”

There was no need. Louis knew what he was going to say before she had even asked it.

“Thank you, Anne,” He said, and it was stronger than he thought he was capable of. “I think I am. Now.” She gave him a watery smile and slipped her hand in his.

“Let’s go then.”

*

Louis could feel the sweatiness of his palms against Anne’s, his heart pounding desperately fast in his ear.

_‘Are you in love with him Louis?’_

The piano player began to his work, the tail of his suit jacket precisely placed on the stool, one foot raised above the pedal.

_‘Pathetically so.’_

He spotted Colby by the door, dressed in what could only be described as an ocean blue, a little tint of green reflected as she moved.

_‘I trust Harry.’_

She held a box in one hand, and rested the other on his sister’s shoulder.

_‘You don’t live there.’_

Gemma was smiling through the tears, her dimples popping in her cheek as Robin wrapped his arms around her. Anne patted Louis on the back and went to rejoin her family,  
leaving him walking alone.

_‘Since when did good ideas make you feel alive?’_

His head was throbbing like the beginning of a migraine, but it couldn’t be, because he hadn’t had one since he was twelve.

_‘We both know we’re going to be much more than friends.’_

It wasn’t a voice he knew, because it spoke slowly and with an Irish lilt.

_‘You’re crazy, Gracey.’_

Gracey. Gracey. Gracey.

_‘Don’t let me go.’_

Zayn had stopped crying now and stood at the other end of the room, outlined by the rows of seats. His black tie looked stifling, but his eyes were sparkling with something like  
pride, or happiness, perhaps.

_‘Wasn’t planning on it, Barkworth.’_

Louis felt sick.

_‘Three words. Third. Class. Party.’_

And then he saw him come in through the other door, touching hands briefly with Colby (who promptly grabbed him in a hug tighter than a boa constrictor).

_‘Do you know that boy?’_

He reached the end of his journey and turned to face Harry, who had his hair slicked back, uncharacteristically neat. He had the sudden urge to run his hands through it just to see  
the sixteen year old he first fell in love with.

_‘Only to see.’_

Blue met green, creating a kaleidoscope of colours that covered Louis, engulfing him in the beauty and awe that this boy, this perfect, perfect boy, was going to be his. Or, as Harry  
said, he was always Louis’. This was just legal.

_‘I was home.’_

Nevertheless, this whole ceremony seemed to mean a lot more to him than he had let on the previous night. He peeked out underneath the fringe that was no longer there, almost sheepish in his delivery. “Louis,” Harry inhaled sharply. “I had intended to write out some really creative and thought provoking vow to read to you today but every single goddamn time I sat down to write it I couldn’t think of enough words to describe you, so I’m just going to wing it, okay?”

_‘I absolutely adore you, you know that?’_

“You’re beautiful, really. You never believe me when I tell you that, but it’s true,” Louis felt his cheeks go red. He was over twenty years old, and this little green eyed wonder could still make him blush. “I love the way you burnt the curtains when you tried to cook. I love how you make me feel when you kiss me. I love a lot of things about you I couldn’t say in front of our friends and family.” The room behind them let out laughs, and Louis grinned wider than he had for weeks. “But most of all, I love the way that no matter what happens, no matter whether we’re together or apart, you’ll always be there for me. ‘Till death do us part,” He added, with a nod to the officiator. It had been short and sweet, but spontaneous enough for Louis to know it meant more than anybody could understand.

_‘Trust me. I’d rather die than put you in danger.’_

Louis breathed out. He hadn’t noticed he’d held it until that point. “Well how am I going to follow that up?” He mouthed, and Harry smiled with those dimples popping in his cheeks. Louis’ hand intertwined with his partner’s, butterflies still moving around in his stomach, even now.

_‘This is what I was afraid of happening. Losing you.’_

“Oscar Wilde once said ‘Never love anyone who treats you like you’re ordinary’.” Colby gave him thumbs up over Harry’s shoulder. She might’ve helped write it due to the fact Louis couldn’t string two sentences together. “In the book Lolita, ‘it was love at first sight, at last sight, at ever and ever sight’. Another said, ‘If you remember me, then I don’t care if everyone else forgets’. But no matter how many love quotes I googled to try and write these vows, none of them ever compared to what I feel for you.”

_‘Then we’ll stay here. Together.’_

Louis continued to look into Harry’s eyes, mirroring him when the tears appeared in the corners. “All I could possibly say here today would just be the tip of the iceberg of how much I love you. I’m not even sure if it’s right to feel this strongly, and I spent a long time battling over what to do with it, but I’m here now, and I love you. I love you so much.”

_‘Don’t let me go.’_

It was over as quickly as they had fallen for each other, and the screen above them flashed, playing a video that Colby and Zayn had conspired on, sprawling out the years of stolen glances and embarrassingly bad pick up lines. Harry stood there, a wide grin on his face, Louis tousling his curls, and they cringed together, before their lips met and the crowd cheered.

The voices were silenced that day once more, and Louis forgot them in the fullness of time.

*

“Have you been smoking?” Colby asked him as they swayed to the beat, the music lulling Louis into a stupor. “No,” He lied smoothly, resting his head against Colby’s, trying to hide his expression. She didn’t buy it anyways. “Don’t even,” She said with a determined tone to her voice, and Louis let out a brisk laugh. “Despite how much of a douche you are, I really don’t want you to die.”

Over Colby’s small frame, Louis’ eyes never strayed far from Harry, who was playing dutifully with Gemma’s daughter Emily. “You’re looking at him right now, aren’t you?” Colby asked, her face pressed into his shirt.

She already knew the answer.

*

**_“I dropped a tear in the ocean, and whenever they find it I’ll stop loving you, only then.” – Natalia Campbell_ **

**_The greater the love, the greater the tragedy when it’s over. – Nicholas Sparks_ **

**_Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end, if not always in the way we expect. – J.K. Rowling_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's the end of my first HarryandLouis fanfiction! I plan on posting a few more oneshots and a chaptered fic sometime soon, and I hope that you all enjoyed reading this one as much as I did writing it. Keep on with the kudos, and maybe a few comments?  
> It means so much to know that people like what I've wrote!  
> \- L


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